


Love Letters

by aleria



Series: Renaissance Faire AU [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AHAHAHA, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, Costumes, Drinking, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, I swear I am taking this seriously, Knights - Freeform, Lance is a pirate, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Abuse, Princesses, Renaissance Faires, Rivals to Lovers, and keith hates his life, even pidge because this is CANADA, implied shallura, mentions of abuse, shiro is a knight, tag urself im lance, there's pining!, they are of age!, ye olde fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 16:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12561668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleria/pseuds/aleria
Summary: Stable Boy,Hey. Hi. How’s it going?I’ve never written a love letter before, so I hope you’ll bear with me.-----------------------Keith works better with horses than people, so why the hell is he stuck working at a Renaissance Faire?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For reference, a picture of [Lance](https://lanceylanceface.tumblr.com/post/169096814250/great-now-he-looks-like-a-disney-prince-lance) in all his pirate-y glory.
> 
> She's done. Lord above, it's over! Thanks to all my darlings who read this monster all the way through-- you give me life! 
> 
> Next up: Fantasy AU?! Fuck, no. No more fics. Noooo I need to stop writing Klance and actually work on my real novel, right?!

Festivals are one of the reasons Keith hates people. The crowds, the noise and the expectations of social interactions are too much for him; give him a wide, open field with no one in sight and he’s happy.

 _Rennaisance_ festivals are hell on Earth. Not only are there crowds of people with whining children and rude customers, but they are dressed up in ridiculous, cringe-worthy costumes, talking like idiots and making believe. There’s something about the total lack of inhibitions that completely rubs him the wrong way-- he, who would die before letting someone see him dressing up or pretending.

So why has he agreed to working in one for the entire summer? 

The problem started when he was born. No, alright, it might have been two years ago when he showed up at Nesbitt’s Ranch & Stable penniless, hopeless and desperate for work. Being in that position is dangerous: you are forced to rely on the kindness of others, which means you are in their pocket forever more. Not that Tara Nesbitt would have forced him to do any favours for her, but she had to know that he owed her so much that he would never say ‘no’ to any request. Even if it involved tending to the horses at the local Rennfaire.

Thank God the stables are out of the thick of things. They are tacked onto the side of a jousting ring on the north end of the faire grounds, and don’t even show up on ye-olde map in the centre of the ‘village’. Visiting the horses isn’t recommended and Keith is afforded some measure of privacy when he is working.

He gathers that this isn’t the largest faire, but he can’t imagine something like this being any more popular than this. He is still astounded that hundreds of people file in every weekend, and even on weekdays the place is almost full. Not everyone dresses up-- most families they are here to watch the events: the archery and the music and the juggling.

But whenever Keith is forced to walk through the faire, seeking the bathroom conveniently situated on the other side of the square, he eyes those who come in costume, wondering how on Earth a _fairy_ is considered Renaissance, or what a pirate was doing this far from the coast. 

“Keith!” He wants to run away at the sound of the name because _who the hell would recognize him at one of these things_ but then he sees Shiro and reminds himself that part of the reason he agreed to this fiasco was because one of his only friends had convinced him. Just barely.

“Ugh,” Keith offers in greeting. Shiro is in costume, and Keith doesn’t even want to _look_ at him. He does, anyway, and has to admit that his outfit is actually pretty convincing. Shiro works here as a knight and they have probably given him one of the higher quality costumes: a long black tabard with silver embroidery along the seams and a crest of five silver lions on his chest. He wears it belted over real half-plate armor, with a long sword on his hip. With his tall, muscular frame, Shiro might have been convincing, if it weren’t for the cellphone in his hand.

“Won’t you get in trouble for that?” Keith asks, nodding to the phone. Shiro blinks in surprise and stows the phone in a leather pouch on his belt.

“It’s hard to remember to stay in character sometimes,” he says with a half grin. “Luckily most of this job is riding or I’d definitely get fired.”

“What, no heroic stage performances?” Keith says, stowing his hands in his own pockets and giving what he knows is a smarmy smile to his friend. “No princesses to save?”

Shiro looks uncomfortable as he shifts weight from one leg to the other. “There’s a princess, but she hardly needs saving. More likely I’m going to have to save the other staff from _her_...”

Keith’s eyes wander to the pavilion on the other side of the square where the official faire ‘princess’ is available for pictures in her off time. He hasn’t met her yet, but one look has already told him that she is not any sort of damsel in distress.

“Yeah, good luck with that.” 

“I take it you are still determined not to meet any of the other staff?” Shiro asks, and Keith is annoyed that he has to go through this conversation for the hundredth time. Does Shiro really think his opinion has changed after only two days of work?

“No offense, Shiro, but these people are ridiculous. You might ride and joust, which I guess redeems you to an extent, but some of the staff literally just walk around in character. They just _pretend_ all day. They _LARP_ for a living!” Keith eyes a particularly animate pirate making grand gestures to a watching group of tourists, and cringes so hard he feels it in the marrow of his bones.

“Judge not, young stable master,” Shiro replies in a deliberate accent, and Keith wants to smack the stupid grin off of his face. 

“I hate you and everyone here,” Keith says, suppressing a laugh. “I gotta go. See you before the joust.”

At least the horses are straightforward. They don’t talk back, but the traitors seem to _enjoy_ the festival. Several of the mares are getting over excited at the sound of the waiting crowd. He has to chide them into standing still while he checks their shoes and puts on their elaborate outfits. “You’re a geek for a good LARP, aren’t you Red?” he asks the ginger who he has a soft spot for. “Can’t wait to dress up for the crowd. Goddamn nerd.” The mare utters a low whiny that he makes him laugh. It’s a lot easier to interact with the animals than any of those people outside, and he’s grateful that only the ‘knights’ tend to come back here.

Other than Shiro, there are 5 other regular staff who ride the horses. This includes the other knights, a falconer, and two circus performers. They each have a horse they prefer and Keith finds it easy to stable-talk to them-- at least he’s confident about the subject matter. They don’t pay him much mind, sticking to the business of horses and avoiding small talk. Thank God.

The other staff at the faire are not as forgiving. There are a pile of them that range from the ages of 18 to 25, university students for the most part, spending their summer semester working. They are typical fun-loving young people and are social to a fault. Keith has actually physically _hidden_ behind a stall door just to avoid having the make friends with them. 

Sometimes, however, he is taken by surprise. Because fucking hell if it isn’t the ‘pirate’ he saw before, wearing a self-assured smirk to make up for his embarrassing lack of beard. He’s probably going for that young, suave, prince-of-thieves sort of stereotype, complete with a loose tunic and tight leather pants. He’s obviously one of the main cast members because his blue coat is about as high-quality as Shiro’s tunic, with shiny gold buttons and complex rope embroidery.

Keith watches him approach the stable where he is almost literally tethered to a horse and realizes it is too late to pretend he didn’t see him coming. What the hell is a pirate doing near the stables, anyway? Why the hell was a pirate at a rennfaire in the middle of a prairie province, hundreds of kilometres from the ocean? How the hell did they manage to shove a pirate into a storyline involving a medieval princess?

“Hey kid,” the pirate says casually and Keith feels himself bristling with dislike instantly. He’s practically _swaggering_. “Do you know who Shiro is? Tall, dark and handsome? Likes to sit astride horses and carries a big stick?”

Is this guy for real?

“Yeah,” Keith mutters and he isn’t reserved with the skeptical look he gives the pirate. He can’t be much older than Keith is, if at all. He’s taller, but only by a margin. Keith writes him off as a university student-- probably in a drama program, no less.

“Would you kindly assist me in finding him?”

“I’m good.” Keith turns back to the horse, the big black one who Shiro usually rides, both here and back at Nesbitt’s. He is brushing out the sleek coat, despite it already shining like silk. Anything to finishing conversing with an overenthusiastic D&D character.

The pirate makes an impatient noise. “Come on, dude,” he says, dropping character. “He said he’d meet here. Are you expecting him soon, or…?”

“No idea.” Keith is well aware of how unhelpful he is being, but he wasn’t hired to do customer service. Or to talk to anyone, really.

“Wow, I guess it’s true what they say about the janitorial staff.”

“Excuse me?” Keith can’t help it-- he’s always been one to rise to the bait. Even if this guy wasn’t trying to get him going, he unwittingly set a trap that Keith is going to fucking destroy. “This coming from a glorified cosplayer?”

“ _Cosplayer?_ ” the pirate snaps back, because apparently his fuse isn’t much longer than Keith’s. “I’ll have you know I’m an actor!”

“Because that’s definitely different,” Keith says with a glare. “Sounds like a really hard job.” 

“It takes _training_ ,” the pirate insists and Keith can see little pink patches forming on his tanned cheek bones. “It’s not a job any idiot could do.”

“No, just one idiot.”

The pirate’s mouth opens to respond but Keith is delighted when no words come out. It’s not often he manages to one-up someone in a verbal sparring match. He lets a smirk form over his face and it’s probably a good thing that Shiro shows up at that moment because he is so tempted to tear this guy to shreds. 

“Hey Lance,” says Shiro with a friendliness that meant he was not reading the tension in the air. 

‘Lance’ has to be the worst name Keith has ever heard.

“I see you’ve met Keith.”

The pirate narrows his eyes at Keith, a look of dislike clear on his face. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Keith says with an exaggerated bow and the look the pirate gives him said ‘murder’. 

It’s _definitely_ worth the look of confusion on Shiro’s face. 

\------------  
“And _then_ ,” Lance continues, because he isn’t even close to being done. “He goes on to talk to Shiro as if they are best friends or something. Shiro’s just being nice because he’s got a soft spot for losers.”

“And he’s friends with us because…” Hunk supplies, which isn’t helpful, and Lance glares at him to make sure he knows it. He’s slowly rotating a leg of mutton over a small flame, basting it every so often with a thin brown sauce. He’s always been able to multitask while cooking, even delivering devastating one-liners that have Lance foaming at the mouth.

“The difference is Shiro actually _likes_ us,” he reasons, gesturing for emphasis. He’s leaning on the food cart that Hunk is manning, taking advantage of the shade from the awning. It’s the tail end of Spring and the afternoons are already getting too warm for full costume. What the hell is he going to do in July?

“And there’s no way he can like this horse guy-- what was his name?” 

“ _Keith_ ,” Lance says, rolling the name on his tongue with distaste. “What the hell kind of name is _that?_ ”

“He sounds pretty normal to me,” Hunk says with an irritating amount of calm and reason. Lance loves the guy, he really does, but being as close as brothers means that they are also completely honest with each other. Hunk isn’t going to agree with Lance out of friendship. He’s going to disagree with him out of love.

“Well, wait until you meet him,” Lance says while crossing arms stubbornly over his chest. “Better yet, just avoid the stables and save yourself the trouble. He called us _cosplayers_ , Hunk!”

Hunk looks down at himself, at his finely embroidered yellow tunic under a thick leather kidney belt, his loose, burlap pants, and tall brown boots. “We’re sort of cosplaying, dude.”

“As _what_ , though, Hunk?” Lance says triumphantly. “Made up characters don’t count. I am Captain Fitzwilliam Cobalt of the galleon León, trolling the open seas for American gold and I have way too much backstory written to be reduced to a _cosplay_ , man.”

“Listen, Lance,” Hunk says, actually putting down his baster for a minute and paying full attention to his friend. “I’m super stoked that you have gotten into this character so much and honestly I love your enthusiasm, but you can’t let one guy throw you off. If you are proud of your job then this sort of thing should roll off your shoulder. Not everyone is going to think of this job as glamorous, but we love it, right?”

As if on cue, a small cluster of girls approach the cart-- ‘real customers’, as Hunk likes to call them. Lance eyeballs them as roughly his age or slightly younger and quickly falls into character.

“My apologies, ladies,” he says with not quite an accent, but definitely a lilt to his voice that suggests a historic nobility. He adds a little bow that sends one of the girls into fits of giggles. “I was conversing with master Garrett. My friend, do treat these charming ladies to the best you have to offer.” He pushes himself away from the cart.

“How can I help you?” Hunk adds with a smile that is _almost_ as charming as Lance’s act. The first of the girls looks bashful as she fishes in her shoulder bag for a wallet.

“I, uh, I’m looking for some corn?” She gestures awkwardly to the line of barbequed corn propped up on wooden sticks. 

“Might I suggest a dusting of the princesses favourite seasoning?” Hunk says with considerably less flirting than Lance, but somehow coming off as 500 times more charming. “Honestly, it’s actually my favourite. Best on popcorn, but someone decided that popcorn wasn’t renaissance enough, I guess. Fun fact: popcorn was probably eaten by Aztecs thousands of years before the Europeans, so there’s that.”

“The History of Food, with Hunk Garrett,” Lance provides, leaning on the posts supporting the awning.

“I’d buy popcorn,” one of the girls pipes up before looking a little abashed that she had the nerve. A little smile cracks on her dark face, revealing pearly teeth.

“For a smile like that, I would gladly sail the oceans to the new world in search of popcorn,” Lance adds, leaning close as if speaking in confidence. The girl blinks and presses her lips together with a little embarrassed grin. 

The girls settle on barbecued corn on the cob, exchanging money and smiles before falling into excited giggles as they wandered away from the cart. 

“Admit it, dude,” Hunk says, going back to basting his mutton. “You love this job.”

“Bitch, do I ever.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (belated) Halloween!

Allura swirls her skirts, squinting at her reflection in the tall mirror. She likes the way the pink and gold blend together in the complex floral patterns of the forepart, and the pearl white of the overdress stands out dramatically against her dark complexion. It’s as if the dress was made especially for her. Which, of course, it was.

“It’s perfect, Kolivan,” she says to the mirror, addressing the tall man standing behind her. “You’ll have to give me the name of the seamstress.”

“Of course, Princess,” he replies without an ounce of feeling. He’s the most deadpan person Allura has ever met, but it doesn’t stop him from also being the most sentimental. This dress is entirely unnecessary for a seasonal worker at a second-tier renaissance faire, but the big guy has a soft spot for costume. Allura suspects that Kolivan himself would like to be one of the actors on staff, if he was able to show any emotions on his face.

“What’s the occasion?” Allura asks, though Kolivan rarely needs a reason to shell out for finery. When he doesn’t reply right away, she turns to face him. He is taller than she is, with broad shoulders and a square jaw. With his constant stern expression, he looks like the last person in the world who would run a renaissance faire. 

“I spoke with the landlord again,” Kolivan says after a moment’s hesitation. “He brought up the possibility of shutting down the faire.”

Allura snorts and crosses her arms over her corset. “Again? Sounds like he wants to raise the lease.”

Kolivan looks away, as if surveying the little office space they occupy. A laptop is all that breaks the illusion of it being a 15th century study. Beyond the walls of the stone and wood the sounds of the faire are coming alive. “He gave me a date.”

Allura frowns in a princess sort of way-- a look she has been perfecting since she was a small child. Kolivan doesn’t flinch, but she knows it has an affect on him. “When?”

“The end of July.”

If Allura could frown deeper, she would. But her mind is racing, already trying to find a solution to the problem. Several questions and answers are popping up, but she will need more time to address them. For now she swirls back to the mirror. “So one last try, then?”

“I have ideas.”

“Oh, lord.”

“As you know our highest demographic besides families are young women,” Kolivan begins.

“Here we go…”

“So I believe a _romance_ theme…”

Allura actually groans, because this is not the first time they have had this conversation. Kolivan has been pushing the romance agenda since she landed this job two years ago. Back then she was young and meek and listened to Kolivan because he was the boss. It had taken all of two weeks for her to establish herself as the _actual_ boss of the faire, and not just because she was the princess. 

And because Kolivan listened to her (as he should), she had managed to avoid the inevitable subject of renaissance romance each year and continued to perform as she saw fit. She knew it was only going to last so long, and eventually Kolivan would insist. And now, with the threat of a closure looming over their heads, the time has come. 

“Alright,” she eventually sighs, and settles herself on one of the wooden stools, hand carved and not entirely comfortable. “Let’s hear it.”

If Kolivan is surprised at her reluctant acceptance, he doesn’t show it on his face. Instead he circles around his wooden desk and extracts a file folder from a banker box where he keeps things meticulously organized. “I’d like to get the audience involved,” he begins, and Allura is terrified to see that there is a stack of notes in the folder. “Contests always go over well, and the actors will be encouraged to interact with the guests.”

“Lance will love that.”

“Handing out roses, offering compliments. Nothing too forward, but enough to create immersion. As for contests, I want to have a singing contest. Think, ‘Village Idol’.”

“Ugh.”

“And there will be a love letter board erected in the village square. Those who wish to be involved can wear a number. Guests can place letters on the board addressed to the number.”

“Sounds creepy.” She has to say it. The idea of receiving a love letter sounds revolting, but she supposes that making participation voluntary might cut down the amount of unwanted flirting. Unfortunately, as a (well) paid member of staff, she was going to have to receive them, too. 

“If you wish, we can screen the ones addressed to the princess.” 

“Please.”

“Furthermore, there will be a special weekend performance. I have the script here.” He hands a thick, stapled stack of papers to Allura, and she eyes the typed title with trepidation. It read _The Princess, the Pirate and the Knight_.

“Oh, please, no…”

“Allura, this is for the greater good. The individual is nothing to the importance of the mission.”

“The what?”

“The _faire_.” He sets his mouth in a hard line that tells Allura that he is going to stick to his guns. He loves this place far too much.

She looks back at the script, turning a few pages. “But… A _love triangle_?”

“And a tournament to win your favour.”

Allura grimaces, but knows she will have to agree. At least all she has to do is sit there and look pretty. She wonders who is going to break it to Lance that he’s going to have to learn how to ride.

\------------

Things are weird at the faire today. OK, in Keith’s mind, things are _always_ weird at the faire, but today things are stranger than usual. He tends to arrive just as the sun has finished cresting the horizon, when the horses are starting to get anxious from being inside all night. After a two day break, he parks his old pick up behind the staff dorms and circumvents the village square to the safety of the stables. By the time he gets there he has noticed there are already more people milling around than usual-- staff, by the looks of their costumes. It’s the weekend, so maybe they have hired more part timers.

It’s blissfully quiet in the stables for the first hour and he finishes cleaning and feeding the horses in peace. However, when he starts to walk them around the jousting ring, as he does every morning, he notices a gathering of faire guests already by the fence. One of the knights has practically been pinned there by a group of people wanting photographs.

When he goes to take his break, Keith chances a walk through the centre of town. Yes, attendance is definitely up, but there’s something more. There seems to be a degree more _giggling_ and every so often he thinks he hears an excited screech.

There is definitely no denying that he is being watched by a group of girls as he makes his way to one of the food carts. He tries not to feel self conscious as he crosses the village square.

“What the hell is going on?” he asks the guy manning the meat cart, because he’s about the most normal person working at the faire.

The big guy grins and starts preparing Keith’s usual order-- a leg of chicken with a side of coleslaw. “Boss has cooked up another theme week. Actually, it’ll probably last a month, if Allura doesn’t burn the place down first.”

“Sounds horrifying.”

“What, the theme or Allura?”

“Both.”

The cook laughs as he hands over the meat. “Let me guess, you’re Keith?”

Keith is suspicious as he takes the food. “How do you know?”

“I’ve heard about the grumpy guy working in the stables. No offense. I’m Hunk.” He wipes he hands on the half apron he is wearing and offers it to shake. Keith takes it, not feeling any less suspicious. “Not that I blame you. This new theme is already freaking me out.”

“What’s the theme?”

“ _Romance_ ,” Hunk says with a shiver. “And they must have done some wicked marketing because all of a sudden this place is packed with starry-eyed girls. I had a 16-year-old try to give me her number. You know how wrong that is?”

Keith turns to look at the lurking group of girls, suddenly terrified. “Shit,” he curses quietly. “I just used all of my vacation time up, too.”

“I feel you, man. At least you can hide out in the stables. I’m standing here, out in the open. It’s like watching vultures, man. I fear for my life!” Hunk shivers again. “I’ve put in an application to be transferred to the tavern kitchens but it’s still being processed.”

“I gotta get out of here,” Keith says quickly, deciding it might be best to eat in the safety of the stables, despite the dust. He turns to leave, choosing a route in the opposite direction of the onlookers. He is met, however, with another unwelcome sight: the _pirate_. He’s taking photos with another group of girls and clearly loving the attention.

Grumbling in distaste, Keith makes to avoid that crowd, too. A voice stops him, and he feels his insides clench uncomfortably.

“Excuse me, do you work here?” The girl is short and smiling, with silky black hair not unlike Keith’s. There’s something in her posture that suggests she knows how to stand _just so_ in order to look adorable. Keith swallows an uncomfortable lump in his throat.

“Uh, technically.”

“Great!” she says, her face lighting up even more. Somewhere behind her three more girls and a guy stand watching her, sharing secret smiles. “I’m trying to find the falconers but the map isn’t too clear.”

The map is definitely clear. The falconer’s hut has a big picture of a bird on it.

“It’s that way,” Keith points with his hand, aware that his tone is stoney and short.

The girl blinks twice before allowing the smile to spread over her features again. “I don’t suppose you’d show me…?”

“Milady, please,” says a smooth voice and Keith is regretting the moment he stepped out of his truck that morning. “Allow me to assist you.”

Lance is in a half-bow, a ridiculous smirk pulling at a corner of his mouth. He looks exceptionally put-together this morning, with artfully dishevelled hair and an extra lace loosened on his tunic. Keith feels a tug of impatience at the over-the-top performance.

“It’s fine,” Keith says waspishly. “I can show you where it is.”

The girl raises an eyebrow, looking from Keith to Lance, and doesn’t move yet.

“Oh, no, I _insist_ ,” Lance goes on, and Keith can see a hint of irritation in the flare of his nostrils. “After all, you belong in the stables. Leave the young maidens to more capable hands.”

“Capable?” Keith scoffs and he wants to suppress the frustration that’s rising in his chest, but he can’t. “What have you ever been capable of? Making a fool of yourself?”

The nearby group of onlookers gasp and laugh, and the girl makes no move to interfere.

“And when did you last shovel shit, horse boy?” Lance shoots back, but it is clear he doesn’t insult well under pressure.

“When did you last _lift_ a shovel? Or would it be too heavy for you?”

“I’d lift this sword if I thought I could knock you out with it!”

“Try me, fancy pants!”

“Guys, that’s enough!” Keith startles and turns to the new voice, seeing Shiro in full costume and a look of anger on his face. He is holding his helmet under one arm and the other hand is in a fist. “You are on duty.”

As if on cue, the girl slinks backwards, but Keith can see she is grinning as she retreats to her friends.

“Captain,” he says to Lance, who stands up straight. “You are required by the mainstage.” The pirate nods quickly, eyes wide, before taking his hasty leave. Then Shiro turns to Keith and he can feel himself shrinking slightly.

“Keith, seriously,” he says in a quieter tone, and Keith hates that he suddenly sounds concerned. “Can’t you just be friends with these people?”

Keith frowns and looks at his food. “I didn’t start it.”

“Come on, man. What are you-- 7?”

“Sorry.” Keith feels a blossoming of guilt in the pit of his stomach as he watches Shiro leave. Why _couldn’t_ he get along with these people? Was it really because he thought they were weird?

He makes his way back to the stables where the horses sniff curiously at his lunch. In the end, he never got along with people, no matter how weird they were. So who’s fault was that?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jesus someone please take this away from me, i can feel my soul leaking out of my ears

Pidge fiddles with the light settings again, because she’s never really gotten the artistic side of her job. Kolivan’s lighting and stage directions are vague at best, using words like ‘moody’ or ‘inviting’ that are so open to interpretation that Pidge wishes she could just turn on all the floodlights and call it a day.

The worst part was she is going to have to stay for the whole performance, which is long and involved and will need to be babied by the tech crew. Pidge hates the shows-- they are overacted and cringe worthy and definitely _not_ why she took the job here. 

“Hey, Pidge,” says the real reason why Pidge is stuck here all summer. Hunk is smiling like he has nothing to be guilty about. “You ready for the show?”

“Never,” Pidge says moodily, which has nothing to do with the ‘moody’ lighting she is struggling to perfect. “I don’t understand why this stupid show is so important anyway.”

“Something about keeping us from getting shut down,” Hunk says with a sigh as he looks closer at the panel of knobs and buttons that Pidge has come to hate. 

“I guess that would suck.”

“Oh, I have no illusions about your hatred for this place, my friend,” Hunk goes on. “But you’ll come to love it, as we all have. Oh, hey, I have someone you totally should meet.”

Pidge frowns, since the last person she was introduced to ended up being the most obnoxious actor in the entire faire. “Another Lance?”

“Oh, come on. You love Lance. Actually, this guy’s the opposite. He hates it here too, and he’s got this whole rivalry thing with Lance started already. They had a big argument in front of some of the guests and Shiro was _not_ happy. Should be a hilarious time, am I right?”

Pidge narrows her eyes at Hunk, trying, not for the first time, to figure out if he was genuinely pleased with the prospect of drama, or if he was being sarcastic. “Sounds like the plot to a bad romance movie. Who is this guy, anyway?”

“He works with the horses over by the jousting arena. He’s a normal guy, if you know what I mean.” Hunk gives Pidge’s outfit a significant look, as is her plain green shirt and jeans are something offensive.

“Did someone say ‘normal guy’?” Enter stage left: a taller version of Pidge, dressed in a long red tunic, dark stockings and black hat worn at such an angle that it has to be intentional. Pidge nearly chokes on her own tongue. “What ho, peasants?”

“What the hell, Matt?!” Pidge manages finally. “Take that off or I will fucking disown you!”

“And walk to streets of this fair village in the nude, I dare not!” Matt’s got this accent that is absolutely destroying Pidge’s will to live, and from the stupid grin on his face, he is thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Hey, you get a job here too?” Hunk asks, and Pidge forgot that they are all 'buddy, buddy' now that they go to the same college. She considers poisoning them both. 

Matt looks around the little sheltered area from which Pidge is doing her tech work. “I need no gold in exchange for my life’s work, sir Hunk. For I am a man of science!”

“Oooh, let me guess!” Hunk says cheerily and Pidge groans. “Galileo?”

“Oo, close!”

“He’s fucking Copernicus. He’s cosplaying Copernicus and he doesn’t even _work here_. Ugh!” Pidge musses up her own hair in frustration. She doesn’t have time for this. “Both of you please leave before I commit fratricide.”

They leave her laughing, and Pidge is forced to make a lighting decision before the show starts in 20 minutes. The sun is slowly setting, which means her work is all the more important for the big outdoor stage. A crowd has already started to gather-- much larger than any other she has seen so far. Pidge is thankful for her little pavilion, at the back of the crowd and away from the many pairs of eyes watching the stage.

Showtime.

The scene is set with two thrones on a wooden backdrop draped with tapestries and two crossed swords. Two tall braziers are aflame near the front corners of the stage. 

Coran walks onto stage. He is the Master of Ceremony and has been for as long as anyone can remember. He is wearing a simple outfit, but he looks as though he came straight out of a renaissance courtroom. He wears his tunic and hose comfortably, but removes his cap upon seeing the crowd, as if he did not see them before.

“Gentlefolk of Altea,” he begins, his voice amplified ever so slightly by the hidden mic in his collar. “It is my great pleasure to present her majesty, Princess Allura, on this, the day of her mother’s passing. It is not a day of celebration, but it is a day that we must honour nonetheless. For it was that day, years ago, that Allura made a promise to her dying mother. That promise was to enter into matrimony and become the Queen of this land. And so, it is with--”

“NOT SO FAST!” 

The audience is alerted to the presence of a new actor by a spotlight. A shorter, stubbier man with large mutton chops is standing to the far right, hands on his hips. He is wearing a leather breastplate and a purple cloak which only makes him slightly less ridiculous.

“But who is this?” Coran asks no one in particular.

“I am Lord Varkon! Leader of the Western Forces, First of my Name, and the Terror of the Unknown Lands. I am here to claim my birthright: the promise that was made to me by my mother and the mother of the Princess Allura.”

The Princess herself enters the stage from behind the throne. She is beautiful and imposing in her ivory gown. Even from the back row, her eyes can be seen flashing with indigo. “What is going on here, Coran? Why is there an intruder in my castle?”

“Princess, this man claims to be fulfilling a pact made by your mother!”

“I know of no such pact,” Allura says with a whip in her tone. Varkon appears to flinch, but recovers quickly.

“It is a pact of marriage, and now I have come to claim my bride!” He strides over to her, his cloak becoming entangled in his legs for a moment, making him stumble. He rights himself before making his clumsy way to the Princess, who looks a little disgusted. “If-if you won’t come with me _willingly_...” He fights to wrestle a dagger from his belt.

The roll of Allura’s eyes is almost too subtle to notice.

“What is going on here?” Shiro enters from the right with a little more grace than Varkon. He isn’t wearing his armor, but has chosen a simple black tunic that is flattering on his muscular form. He takes in the scene and draws his longsword with a ring of metal on metal. “Princess!”

“Stay back, sir knight! The Princess will be mine!”

Allura sighs. "What _ever_ will I do?" 

There is a battlecry from stage left and the audience gasps (in real terror) as someone swings onto stage on a rope tied to the top beam. He lands poorly, colliding with Varkon and sending them both into a sprawl that could not have been staged. There is a flurry of movement as both try to recover and then make a mad grab for the dagger that had clattered away.

“St-stop-- ack!” Varkon yelps as the newcomer wrestles him into an unrehearsed headlock. They tumble again before both ending up on their feet. 

Lance, dressed in his usual pirate attire but with hair that is now ruffled at the back, manages to unsheathe his rapier as Varkon brandishes his own weapon. “I will never let the Princess fall into your foul hands!” he proclaims dramatically. “Drop your dagger or feel my blade in your belly!” He makes a lunge at Varkon who looks genuinely terrified and dances backwards with surprising grace.

Shiro is then behind him, and the next series of movements are clearly choreographed: first he lays an arm over Varkon’s chest, then he spins him to meet his blade, and his dagger goes ‘flying’. Varkon drops to his knees before Shiro’s brandished blade.

“I yield!” he cries. “Take your princess and give me my life!” 

Shiro steps back and gestures to stage right. “Begon, villain. Do not let me see you in this kingdom again.”

Varkon retreats, stopping just before his exit. “You haven’t seen the last of Varkon!” he declares dramatically, before leaving in a swirl of cloaks.

The audience applauds as Shiro and Lance both sheathe their weapons. Lance takes a little bow that is entirely unnecessary, and this time Allura’s eye roll is not subtle at all. 

“And now, my lady,” Lance goes on, bending a knee before his princess. “Allow me to proclaim your beauty, for it has captured my heart-- a heart that has swore to never love and never to find port. I, who could have any woman in the kingdom, do pledge myself to you alone.” He takes her hand in his and lands a soft kiss on her fingers. Allura seems to let out a reluctant sigh.

“A suitor has appeared!” Coran proclaims, and everyone turns to him as if they had forgotten he was there. “My lady, the time of your betrothal is at hand! But who will you choose?”

Allura opens her mouth to speak, but then turns to where Shiro has not yet moved. He looks bewildered for a moment, then seems to remember himself. “Princess,” he says as he slowly closes the gap between them. Lance backs away to allow them their moment, despite the a glare he rests on the knight.

“I would not force you to choose any man,” Shiro goes on softly, and the audience is dead silent to hear his words. “I… I want only your happiness.”

Allura’s eyes are locked onto him, as are all eyes. She still has no words, though she has opened and closed her mouth several times. “Shi-- Sir Ebony,” she says, quickly correcting herself. “I… I do not know.”

“Choose me, Princess,” Lance says quickly. “For I am sure.”

“There is only one way to decide!” Coran proclaims, shooting a finger into the night sky. “A competition to win the Princess's favour!” 

There is a gasp and a murmur that ripples across the crowd. Allura and Shiro look uncomfortable. Lance is grinning.

“With the good people of Altea as witness, I proclaim a joust in honour of the fair Princess Allura! All may compete, but only the winner may ask for her hand in marriage. Join us this weekend for a battle of love and honour!”

He turns around dramatically, stretching a palm to the three actors on stage. “Captain Fitzwilliam Cobalt and Sir Ebony of the Five Lions-- we will watch you battle for supremacy astride horses on the tourney grounds! May the purest heart win!”

The audience cheers. Shiro offers a half-smile to Allura, which she returns. The look of terror on Lance’s face is almost missed as the lights go dark.


	4. Chapter 4

Keith watches the look on Shiro’s face go from surprised, to worried and then to utterly flustered. He’s sitting on the other side of the tourney ring where he thinks no one can see him but Keith can’t help but wonder what he’s doing all by himself. He’s pretending to brush out Red’s coat, and watching over Shiro from over the top of the horse’s back.

Shiro is reading something. His mouth has fallen open and his eyebrows are lost under his white fringe. Then he actually tosses the letter away in a fit of what can only be embarrassment before dropping onto his knees with his face in his hands.

Curiosity is getting the better of Keith. He takes Red by the reins and leads him out into the ring to stretch his legs. At least, that’s what Keith tells himself he’s doing.

“Hey, Shiro,” he says, making the knight almost jump off of the barrel he’s sitting on. Shiro is folding the letters quickly and forcing a smile that doesn’t hide the fact that yes, he is blushing right now.

“Keith-- what’s up?”

Keith looks down at the discarded letter and stoops to pick it up before Shiro notices. The latter exclaims in alarm and stops just short of grabbing the letter out of Keith’s hand. “What’s this?” Keith asks. He is sorely tempted to open it up, but the look on Shiro’s face is pleading.

“It’s... “ Shiro hesitates, as if the words pain him. “... a love letter.”

Ah, that explains everything.

“From who?”

Shiro shrugs heavily. “I don’t know. Guests, mostly. I hope they are from guests. I haven’t read them all.”

“All?” Keith asks, handing back the unopened letters. “How many did you get?”

“A few,” Shiro admits. “A bunch.” He looks around, seeking something that he can’t seem to find. “So, uh, big joust coming up.”

“Yeah, I heard. You’ll win, anyway.”

Shiro lets out a breath, sounding somewhat relieved that the conversation has turned away from embarrassing love letters. “I don’t know. That new guy-- Larry, I think his name is? He’s been riding for at least twice as long as me.”

“You’ll beat Lance, anyway.” Keith isn’t sure why he brought up the pirate, but now that he is picturing the guy feebly trying to hold his own against Shrio in a joust, he wants to smile.

“Listen, about that,” Shiro starts, and something in his tone makes Keith want to frown. “Lance has never ridden a horse before. I told him to come and practise before the joust. He’s not actually going to compete, but he had to be seen riding into the ring.”

 _Of course he wasn’t going to joust_ , Keith thinks with disappointment. _Too bad._

“Probably a good idea. He doesn’t look like the athletic type.”

“Oh, he’ll cream you in a friendly soccer match,” Shiro says with a breathy laugh. “But I told him you’re the expert rider.”

“You _what_?”

Shiro has the decency to look a little ashamed. “I insisted, actually. The rest of us are too busy with the new events to teach him anything.”

“And _I_ am definitely too busy!” Keith says loudly, making Red whiny in irritation. 

“You have this afternoon off,” Shiro says with a frown. “You told me yesterday that you had nothing to do.”

“I meant nothing _fun_ to do. I can definitely make myself busy if that’s what it will take!” Keith would rather muck out the stables than teach Lance how to ride.

“Keith, why are you so against this guy?” Shiro asks, crossing his arms over his armored chest. “I know you got off on the wrong foot, but he’s not a bad person. And he doesn’t deserve to be humiliated just because of some childish rivalry.”

Shrio is too mature by half. Keith can’t argue with him, because he is right as usual. It doesn’t stop Keith from feeling a rise of frustration when he sees that stupid pirate show up sometime after lunch, looking as irritated as Keith feels.

Keith’s tempted to sneak around the back of the stables and take the long way back to the employee parking lot, but he imagins the disappointment in Shiro’s voice and thinks better of it. 

“Can I help you?” Keith says in the best customer service voice he can muster. 

Lance doesn’t reply right away. He looks a little frightened, as though Keith might bite him in half. He wasn’t far from the truth.

“I-- uh…” he starts and Keith starts to wonder what happened to the suave pirate who was literally flirting with a girl 5 minutes before coming to the ring. He's fidgeting with one of the buttons on his coat. “Shiro told me to ask you about riding.” He says this very fast while looking at the ground.

“What do you want to know about riding?” Keith says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What the hell do you think?” Lance snaps. Then he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Ugh, sorry, no. That’s not what I meant. I mean, I want to know how to ride. I need help. Not that it’s a big deal. A lot of people don’t know how to sit on a horse!” 

Keith can’t help the amused smile cross his face. “So you’re asking me…”

“Yeah, I’m asking you. _Nicely_.” Lance sets his jaw in a stubborn way and looks up at Keith like a child. “Teach me to ride. Please.”

“In exchange for what?”

Lance blinks in surprise. “What do you mean ‘in exchange’? I asked you nicely, didn’t I?”

“Come on, captain. Make it a fair trade.”

Lance looks mutinous, but Keith locks eyes with him and doesn’t back down. “Fine. Whatever. How about I buy your dinner?”

“For a week.”

“What? No, that’s way too much!” Lance exclaims. “One lesson, one meal. That’s the deal!”

“Oh, it will take more than one lesson,” Keith says with a sigh, eying the pirate as if judging his form.

Lance is bristling, but he hasn’t refused again. After a moment of silent struggle, he sticks out his hand like a weapon. “Whatever.”

Keith shakes it once, trying not to smile in a smug way. “Deal.”

\------------

Lance knows how to row. He’s pretty good at it, actually. He’s a swimmer, a basketball player and a fantastic dancer. He likes to think he’s got pretty good balance, reflexes and hand-eye coordination. He’s not weak, either. But apparently none of these skills apply to being on a horse. 

After making his deal with Keith, Lance returns to the staff dorms to change. He is advised to wear close-fitting pants and a shirt that he could sweat in, so he returns in an old college tee and a pair of grey sweatpants that may or may not have belonged to his sister. It feels weird, walking through the faire in street clothes. Freeing, actually. 

Keith won’t even let Lance near a horse until he is satisfied that Lance knows the basics of what he is about to do. He goes over the gear, the posture and the major ‘do not’s of horse riding. He is waspish at first, snapping at Lance if he tries to interrupt, like a school teacher. Lance is desperate to act out, but he reminds himself that it is this, or facing certain humiliation in three days. 

Finally Keith brings out a horse-- a beautiful mare with a black mane and a grey coat that almost shines blue. She’s already saddled and ready when he approaches her.

“Just remember, she isn’t a car,” Keith says for the thousandth time. “You’ll need to bond with her.”

“Oh, I don’t think bonding will be a problem,” Lance drawls with one eyebrow raised. The horse looks around to him, unimpressed. “Hey girl. Has anyone ever told you you have beautiful eyes?” The way the horse harrumphs is almost human.

Getting on the horse is a task in and of itself. Keith shows him several times, swinging a leg over like it is nothing at all. When Lance makes the attempt he nearly falls over the other side and the horse is clearly as annoyed as he is. Eventually he gets on the damn thing, apologizing all the while (to the horse, not to Keith, despite having almost kicked him in the head). 

“You--” Keith says, pushing one of Lance’s knees away from his face. “Have too much leg. Seriously.”

But Lance is on top of the horse now and he doesn’t care what Keith says. “Hah!” he says triumphantly. From up here he can see beyond the jousting ring. He cranes his neck towards the dirt laneway that leads to the village square. Then he turns the other way to the empty field on the other side of the ring. “This is great!”

“She’s not a tower, Lance,” Keith is saying impatiently. “She’s waiting for you to do something.”

“Uh, what do I do?” Everything that Keith has said to him up until now has left his brain. He looks down at the black mane and the reins that he is squeezing in his fists. “Oh god, what do I do?”

“First of all, don’t panic,” Keith says soothingly, which is surprising, since he has spent most of the afternoon sounding like he wanted to murder Lance. “She’s not going to do anything stupid. She’s got her own brain, don’tcha Blue?” He pants the horse affectionately on the neck and the beast turns to him with what could only be a look of love.

“You really like horses, huh?”

“You make it sound weird,” Keith accuses, looking self conscious.

“Well, I didn’t _mean_ for it to sound weird. If you think it's weird that’s in your own head, dude.”

“Whatever. Try giving her a nudge with your heel.” Keith steps back, removing his hand from the side of the horse and making a thrill of panic shoot through Lance’s chest. He takes a shaky breath and tells himself it’s _fine_ before giving Blue a little nudge in the side. 

She doesn’t move. Lance tries to nudge her again, this time a little harder. “Come on, girl.” She lifts a hoof and lets it fall again before tossing her head. “Come _on_.” Lance kicks a little harder and the horse reluctantly steps forward. Then she gives in entirely and decides she will walk across the ring after all. Why not?

“Uh, Keith?” Lance wants to sound confident, but let’s be honest: he’s _terrified_. “Keith-- how do I stop?!”

Keith isn’t responding and the horse isn’t stopping and they are already halfway across the ring. Lance twitches the reins experimentally, but Blue keeps plowing on, turning just before reaching the fence and making her way around the outside of the ring. “Keith?!”

Lance can see him now, doubled over as if in pain. He’s shaking and from over here Lance can’t hear him but he knows that he’s laughing.

“Keith, you asshole!” Lance yells, which makes Blue twitch into a little canter. Lance yelps in genuine fear and crouches close to the reins and wonders if this is the day he will die. But before he knows it the horse is slowing and he hears Keith laughing as he runs over to grab her reins.

“You… jerk…” Lance manages to sputter as he shakily slides off of the beast. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

Keith is smiling from ear to ear, his eyes glossy from laughing. “I did. I am not sorry. I enjoyed that so much.”

Lance wants to be angry, but Keith is smiling like he’s never seen before and he starts to wonder if maybe this stable boy is not as horrible as he wants him to be. After all, they are having a Normal conversation and a shared experience that might be considered bonding. 

Maybe they could even be friends.

“Now about that dinner,” Keith says as he leads Blue back to the stable. “I was thinking the full course meal at the tavern.”

“What?! That’s easily a $20 meal, dude.”

“Yepp,” Keith says with no humour. “We made a deal.

Maybe not.


	5. Chapter 5

Lance still isn’t convinced the coleslaw is edible. 

“I’ve read about this, man,” he tells Hunk, who doesn’t look like he appreciates people criticising his coleslaw. “Most places leave their coleslaw out for days and it ends up being a cesspool of bacteria. Plus it’s _cabbage_.” He eyes the pile of white goo with scrutiny.

“Are you accusing me of serving you old slaw?” Hunk says with his hands on his hips. “That’s low, even for you, Lance.”

Lance wants to point out that it’s the end of the day and chances are the tavern cook made up the coleslaw at least that morning, but Hunk actually looks personally offended. “Whatever man, it’s not for me anyway.”

Hunk looks around as if some other person is about to spring out of nowhere and claim the leg of chicken with a side of slaw. But the faire is nearly closed and the sun is low over the horizon.

“Riding lessons,” Lance grunts in explanation.

“Ah, with Keith,” Hunk says, gesturing at the chicken knowingly. “I thought you hated him.”

“‘Hate’ is a strong word,” Lance says like the mature adult he is. “I don’t hate anyone. I have people I want to punch in the face, but I don’t _hate_ them.” He thinks about how Keith still laughs at him, two days into their lessons, and wonders how he hasn’t hit him yet. “Besides, Keith’s not all bad. He’s like Shrek, you know?”

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘Shrek’?”

“Yeah! He’s got, like, layers.” Lance pulls a little piece of cabbage out of the pile of slaw and eats it experimentally. “Like Shrek.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Ugh, you uncultured swine,” Lance says, peeling off a little bit of chicken skin this time and eating it. “We’re going to have to marathon the Shrek movies next time we have a movie night.”

“Great. You can invite Keith.” 

“And spend _more_ time with him? Do you want to kill me?”

“After your comments about the slaw, kind of.” Hunk smiles to show how serious he is, and Lance blows him a kiss before sauntering off to the riding ring where he has agreed to trade the meal for another lesson. It’s the third one, and he’s got one more day before the joust. So far he hasn’t fallen off his horse and he’s finally got a knack for the whole _stopping_ thing.

He’s even gotten a knack for how to get along with the stable boy. Keith _does_ have layers-- the outermost being a loner snob who thinks he’s better than everyone else. Under that is a loner jerk who doesn’t think so much of himself but still hates Lance. Under _that_ is someone who is at least willing to teach Lance how to ride, even if he makes fun of him all the while. 

Lance wonders what layers are deeper still. Somewhere in there is someone who likes horses and gets along with Shiro-- two things that a jerk shouldn’t be capable of. Maybe somewhere deeper is even someone who might tolerate Lance. 

Lance, on the other hand, wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s already told Keith that he doesn’t hate him at all and that he’s even willing to accept him into his circle of friends, if he tries hard enough. Keith doesn’t take the conceited comments well and replies with a well-rounded insult about Lance’s lack of pirate beard (a sore spot, to be sure).

“If anything it’s you who wants to be friends,” Keith accuses him as he saddles up Blue. “You keep showing up here every day.”

“For lessons, obviously. We have a deal!” Lance says with a pout. “Whatever, I’m not ashamed to say it: we _should_ be friends. You’re the only person on staff who is determined to hate me, and that doesn’t sit well with me.”

“You just want to be the centre of attention,” Keith says with a sidelong glance.

“Hey, I get plenty of attention when you are giving me your hate-stare!” Lance says accusingly to which Keith narrows his eyes. “There-- that’s the one! See, the centre of attention isn’t all fun and games.”

Keith is quiet for a moment as he finishes buckling Blue’s saddle. “I don’t hate you,” he says eventually.

“There is a god,” Lance says, and he can’t help the way his face pulls into a goofy smile. 

Apparently third time's a charm, only from the perspective of the fates, whom are determined to destroy what is left of Lance’s ego. From his point of view, things are already going swimmingly: he is riding with more confidence than two days ago and Blue seems comfortable with him on her back. He is able to get her into a walk and trot before stopping her on the far side of the ring. Tomorrow’s performance is going to be just this: a gallant march onto the ring, a salute to the princess, and then a return to the stables where the real jouster would take his place with a helmet on. Afterwards, if his champion won the joust, he would return to the ring in order to address the crowd and woo the princess once more. Now that he feels confident on horseback, he is actually looking forward to the show.

“This’ll be a _breeze_ ,” he says to Keith after his first successful loop around the ring. “Me ‘n Blue will knock ‘em dead.”

“About Blue,” Keith starts as he reaches her her harness. “I don’t think you should ride her. She’s great for lessons but she hates crowds.”

“We are talking about the horse, right?”

“Shut up,” Keith says almost offhand. “She doesn’t usually do jousts except in training. She’s not a fan of the screaming.” He pats the horse affectionately on the cheek and she tosses her head softly in response. “They’re probably going to put you on Red.”

Lance whines a little in disappointment. He only just got used to this horse, and now he’s going to have to learn all over again? “Oh come on! Blue just hasn’t had the right rider, right girl? We match! We were made for each other!”

The faint sound of giggling alerts Lance’s sixth sense, and he turns on the saddle to look towards the bandstand, where a group of young people are leaning on the fence, watching him and Keith. He can’t help it-- his instincts take over, making him sit up straight and grin. 

“One more time around,” he says, and he isn’t asking permission. He hears Keith hiss a little in annoyance before he urges Blue into a walk in the opposite direction from the crowd of watchers. As he makes his way around the ring he starts to feel bold and kicks Blue into a trot. She is responding to his touch easily and he really does feel like she’s the only horse for him. 

“Let’s show ‘em, Blue,” he says, halfway around the ring. He urges her again, and she kicks into a canter, which, he has to admit, is a much different experience than he expected. But far from being terrified of the transition, Lance feels a burst of adrenaline that makes him want to shout out loud. He laughs instead and makes eye contact with the people watching him as he makes to ride past them gallantly. 

Several things do not go according to plan. For one, Blue is a lot faster than Lance realizes, which makes it hard to wink at anyone as he rides by. For another, it turns out looking gallant tends to make people want to cheer, and Lance has to find out the hard way that Keith was right. 

It happens too fast for Lance to know what really happened, but moments later he discovers he is no longer on the horse and his wrist, which is wrapped up in the reins, hurts _a lot_. The crowd is quiet and he makes an effort to gather himself and face them.

“Still working on my dismount,” he says in full actor mode, and the crowd eases into a few nervous giggles. He bows and they clap and he feels his ego heal a little bit. Then, with as much dignity as he can muster, he leads Blue away towards the stable where Keith is half running to meet him.

“You _idiot_ ,” he says with wide eyes. “What the hell was that?” Keith grabs the reins from Lance, who relinquishes them from his throbbing hand.

“I fell off the horse,” he admits matter-of-factly. 

“ _You fell off the fucking horse_ ,” Keith repeats and Lance wants to downplay it but Keith’s eyes are wide and his wrist hurts too much. So instead he grimaces and Keith looks suspicious. “What’s wrong?”

Lance extends his arm, which is shaking beyond his control. He can already tell his wrist is starting to swell.

“You _idiot_ ,” Keith says again, but quieter this time. “You wrapped the reins around your hand, didn’t you? I _told you_ not to do that!”

“Lesson learned,” Lance says with a shaky voice. “I can honestly say I will never do that again.”

“Come on,” Keith says with a scowl. He leads Blue gently back to the stable, the horse looking no worse for wear, though Lance thinks she ought to at least look a little guilty. He follows meekly, the pain cowing him into silence. The stables are empty, as another day is coming to a close and the other riders have finished their shifts. The only sounds are the shuffle of horses and the odd grunt. “Sit,” Keith instructs and Lance plops himself on a wooden bench with a sigh.

Keith ignores Lance after that, spending time with Blue removing her tackle, and brushing her down. He murmurs to her softly, no doubt gossiping about what an idiot Lance is. Though he can’t hear, Lance watches him work anyway.

Keith’s got this gentle way of treating the horses that Lance has never seen him use on humans. He speaks in a different tone and his dark eyes go soft as his brows relax.

“Where’d you learn to take care of horses?” Lance asks finally, and not just to take his mind off the swollen wrist in his lap. 

Keith almost glares at him from the stall, but lets his face fall after a heartbeat. “From my dad.”

“So you _were_ born in a barn. Should have known.” Karma kicks in and a bolt of pain shoots up Lance’s arm, making him wince. “ ‘is cool, though. Useful skill.” 

“Do you always talk this much when you’re in pain?” Keith asks as he closes the stall door, leaving Blue to herself.

“You mean, do I always talk this much in general?” Lance corrects with a half smile. “Because pain doesn’t stop me. Or encourage me. I’m tough like that.”

Keith disappears into a little room built into the back of the stable and reemerges moments later with something in his hand. He pauses by a towel draped over a stall door to smell it carefully. “So what you’re saying is: if I hit you you won’t shut up.”

“Nope,” Lance says, and he has to put his head back against the wooden wall because he’s feeling a little faint for some reason.

Keith has apparently given up on the towel and instead approaches Lance with what turns out to be an icepack in his hand. He seems to be weighing it in his hand before making a decision to shrug out of his shirt. He wraps the flannel shirt around the hard ice pack and kneels down by Lance’s bench. He has a farmer’s tan, but otherwise his pale torso is hidden by his black tank top.

“Huh,” Lance says as he relinquishes his wrist to Keith’s ministrations.

“What?”

“I dunno. I just sort of assumed you’d be the kind of guy to burn in the sun. You’re so pale.”

Keith glares up at him from where he is holding the icepack to Lance’s wrist. 

“Ah, you _do_ blush though.”

Keith scowls heavily, which does nothing to stop the creep of red on his cheeks. “Ugh, take care of your own damn self,” he says, standing up quickly.

Lance can’t help laughing. “No, I’m sorry, come back please!” 

“It’s your stupid flirting that got you into this mess, you know,” Keith says with arms crossed over his chest.

“I know-- I’m sorry!” Lance says with a grin that he hopes Keith can’t resist. It might work, because Keith is reluctantly sitting on the dusty stable floors again, crossing his legs with a pout on his face. Lance stops himself from flinching from pain by watching the low sun play off of Keith’s dark pony tail and the goosebumps form on his slender neck when he touches the ice.

“You _are_ pretty cute though,” Lance says, because he can’t help himself.

“Urg, that’s it!” Keith says with a satisfying reaction. “You’re on your own.”

Lance is too busy laughing to call after him as he retreats, feeling not nearly as guilty as he should.


	6. Chapter 6

The faire is teeming with tourists on the day of the big joust, and Keith is miserable. The number of giggling girls has reached such a crescendo that he dreads heading out of the stables more than ever. He can see them looking at his chest, wondering, perhaps, why he doesn’t have one of those stupid numbers pinned on his shirt.

He’s not the only one. Shiro has been spending a lot of time hiding in the stables, too, before someone finds him and forces him to go out and interact with the guests. He claims that he is preparing for the joust, but Keith knows as well as he does that he is more than ready for it.

Keith hates to admit it, but Lance is ready too. Yeah, he definitely sprained his wrist, but the wrap is easily hidden under his captain’s coat and he isn’t actually going to have to _joust_ anyway. He’s sucking it up for the audience and playing down his injury in front of the other staff, but for whatever reason he saves all of his whining for Keith. 

The day of the joust Lance shows up at the stable to meet Red, the feisty young stallion who he is going to have to ride. He’s also Keith’s favourite, and he tells Lance this much.

“You’re gunna let me ride your favourite horse?” he says, as if it’s a big deal.

“It’s not really my choice: another staff has borrowed Blue for the day, and Red’s the only other jouster.”

“You’ve probably trained him to bite my hand off!” Lance says as he looks skeptically at the roan horse. But in the end Red is happy to have Lance pat his rose and even takes an aggressive step towards him that Keith knows he does when he wants to be ridden.

The stands are filled with spectators by mid afternoon when the joust was set. A crowd is forming around the fences, too, and the din of voices and cheering grows steadily as the time draws near. Costumes are plentiful, as guests make an effort to immerse themselves in the theme. Someone is selling little flags, too, with the colours of the knights taking part in the joust: black for Sir Ebony, blue for Captain Fitzwilliam Cobalt and white, grey, orange and brown for the less popular knights. It isn't clear who the favourite is between black and blue, but the crowd certainly expects one of them to win.

The elevated dais that stands on the opposite side of the arena to the stables has been decorated with banners and flags as well as two enormous bouquets of roses. The princess of the faire is already seated under the awning in a resplendent blue gown along with her posse of young maidens. The master of ceremony and acting tournament master Coran stands on an adjacent balcony, where everyone will hear his voice.

“Sirs and gentleladies!” he cries over the sound of the crowd. He raises his arms and the sounds die down enough for him to continue. “We gather you here today for a display of skill and bravery, but also to bear witness to a feud that has been brewing these past days between two suitors who vie for the attentions of our lovely Princess Allura.” He turns to gesture to the princess, who offers a little wave to crowd. “If it please you, your majesty, we will present the competitors.”

“It does please me, Master Coran,” she replies in a voice that carries. 

“Then bring out the good knights!”

The knights ride out one by one, each wearing their finest armor and tabards. Shiro leads the parade, all silver and black on his dark, imposing stallion. With his strong jaw and wide shoulders, he looks the part more than any of the others. He rides with purpose and a seriousness that would lead one to believe that he actually is playing to win. His grey eyes are locked on the princess's dais.

Lance follows him with a much different behaviour. The second hand silver armor fits him surprisingly well, and his blue tabard displays a leaping shark, a design that he insisted on. He hides how unfamiliar he is with riding by waving to the crowd and flashing his trademark grins. He winks and points finger guns to individuals in the crowd (including Hunk, who winks back). 

The other knights are men young and old-- regular jousters at the faire whose names and faces are seldom repeated outside the ring. They are real athletes and riders, competing in the offseason and working for the faire part time in the summer. Their armor is dented and scratched from use, and their tabards patched. 

Coran announces the knights one by one as they pass the centre of the ring, and the crowd cheers for each of them with varying amounts of gusto.

“Brave knights,” is it Allura speaking this time, as she has risen from her seat and approaches the railing of the dais. “I do hope you will give us a good show today.”

“For you, my lady,” says Captain Cobalt, urging his stallion forward a step. “I would present the finest entertainment. But, alas, you will have to watch us fools batter one another with sticks.”

The princess actually laughs. “Then go forth, good Captain, and claim your stick. For I wish to watch it cross with your peers.”

The Captain bows his head politely, and Sir Ebony moves forward. “Princess.” He pauses then, and the crowd is listening closely for him to continue. He hesitates before drawing a single pink flower from under his tabard. “This seems a silly gesture now, seeing you surrounded by flowers.”

Allura has her mouth open before she looks at the roses on their side of her seat. “Oh, well. I don’t mind one more…” She is speaking in a rushed way that betrayes her surprise at the flower.

Sir Ebony extends his hand, reaching from his tall horse to the princess’s waiting hand. A murmur of approval travels over the crowd and after delivering the flower he retreats quickly, running a hand through his short hair. From a distance, it is hard to tell how embarrassed either party looks, but it is not hard to imagine. 

“The rules are set and the arena awaits, knights,” Coran continues. “May the best of you emerge the winner, and receive the prize: a place beside the princess at the celebration feast, and a chance to win her heart!”

The knights head back to the stables to the sounds of cheers and the sight of waving flags. Coran announces the brackets: 6 matchups, with judges giving them marks which will advance them to a semi final and then the last joust.

Lance dismounts from Red with the biggest stupid grin on his face. “Keith, did you see me?” he asks like a kid when he sees Keith in the stables. Red is taken by a waiting groom to be prepped for a knight wearing identical armor and tabard to Lance. “Easily sexiest man on a horse, right?”

Keith rolls his eyes, but he can’t be completely scathing, not when Lance is looking so earnest. “Yeah, you did it.”

“At first I thought Red was going to take off in front of Shiro’s horse, but I stopped him and he actually _listened_.” He runs a hand through his hair and it's clear that he’s sweating under his armor. “It was different than Blue-- he’s got this energy that is a little terrifying, actually.”

Keith can’t help smiling. Red is his favourite, after all. “You’ll have to come ride him again sometime.”

Lance’s smile fades and he fixes Keith with a look that makes him regret the offer. “For real? You don’t mind--”

“In exchange for dinner,” Keith says quickly. “I gotta go. We need to prep the other horses.”

“Hey, Keith,” Lance says, catching his arm. Keith feels a little jump in his chest at the serious look in Lance’s face. It’s a relief when he breaks into another grin. “Thanks.”

Keith tries to put on his best apathetic look. “Sure. You’re welcome.”

\---------------

It’s one of the better jousts Hunk has seen since he started working for the faire. He’s sitting with Pidge on one side of him and Matt on the other, and both have a running commentary. Pidge wants to know the finer details of the joust: what are the point of those little shields? What material are the lance heads made of? How does the armor allow for maneuvering? 

On the other side, Matt is much les curious, and spends the time cheering and saying things like “Oh MAN did you see that??” and “Holy shit that had to hurt!”

The knights are going all out, and without the judges it is hard to tell who is doing better. During one joust the brown knight falls clean off of his horse, so clearly he is out, but in many cases the smash of lance on shield looks equally dramatic for both sides. 

Both Shiro and ‘Lance’ are doing well, winning each match up they joust in. Of course, they are not matched up together, no doubt in hopes that they would remain for a dramatic finale. But in the end, Lance’s knight is eliminated in the semi finals and it is clear that Sir Ebony is going to end up on top.

The final joust is between the orange knight, Sir Hunt, and Sir Ebony. They both last all of the rounds, splintering all of their lances and leaving it up to the judges to declare, finally, that Shiro is the winner.

“I knew it!” Matt says, punching a fist into the sky. “My boy Shiro would never disappoint.”

“But wait-- who is this?” Coran is yelling, and the celebratory cheers die down to hear what he is saying. He is pointing towards the field side of the arena, where the grooms are scrambling to open the far gate to allow another knight to enter the ring. They are helmeted, with dull grey armor and a pink and blue tabard. “This-- uh,” Coran says in a rare moment of confusion. “We have a mystery competitor, my good people!”

There seems to be a minor amount of panic amongst the grooms in the arena, as no one seems to have expected the mystery knight to appear.

“Is this scripted?” Hunk asks, and Pidge simply shakes her head. 

After a moment, they have led the mystery knight to the far side of the ring where they awaited Sir Ebony to be fitted with a new lance. Even Shiro looks confused before he lowers his visor. The excitement in the crowd is palpable, and there is no calming them down now. Coran’s words are lost to the noise, and it is up to gestures to announce the beginning of the joust.

The lances both land on the opponent’s ecranche with a resounding _crunch_ and an echoing ‘ooo’ from the crowd. Both knights remain seated and are fitted with new lances. The following joust nearly catches Shiro in the chest, but he angles his lance at the last moment to force the opponent’s lance away.

“Oh man,” Hunk admits through a mouthful of corn. “This is intense. Shiro might actually _lose_.”

“Who the hell _is_ this guy?” Matt says with an excited grin. “Move over Sir Ebony-- I know who I’m writing _my_ love letters to!”

On the third joust the mystery knight’s lance lands on Shiro’s ecranche while his misses, and the crowd knows it is all over for him. The cheers and boos are resounding, and Coran is completely unable to gain the attention from the crowd. He waves his hands over his head as he walks to the centre of the ring where the judges have gathered, wearing their long colourful tunics. Finally things settle down enough for him to yell over the ring.

“The winner,” Coran booms. “We know not the name of!” He has to stop then, because the crowd is going mad again. He turns to the knight, who has dismounted from their grey steed. When it is again quiet enough, he asks: “Who are you, Sir Knight? Remove your helmet so that the princess may look upon the face of her suitor!”

The crowd is the quietest it has been since the whole debacle started. Everyone holds their collective breath as the knight unclasps the back of their helmet and pulls it off of their head. Princess Allura looks around the ring fiercely. “The princess needs no suitor!” she declares to everyone, her hair streaming around her, no longer trapped by the helmet. “I will continue to rule this kingdom as its princess, until such time as I see fit!”

The crowd is going mad again, cheering with most gusto than they had for any of the other knights. Shiro has dismounted and is approaching Allura with his helmet off. Coran looks flabbergasted. 

“YEAH!” yells Pidge so suddenly that Hunk nearly falls off his seat. “FUCK YEAH ALLURA!!"

“I have the weirdest boner right now,” Matt says faintly.

Hunk chokes on his corn.


	7. Chapter 7

“I’m sorry,” says Keith, who isn’t sorry at all. “I’m not sure I understand what you are asking for.” 

“I need a bundle of straw,” the short man says. “And this container, filled with horse droppings.” Keith’s pegs him as middle aged, with a bushy moustache that hides half his mouth. His accent is hard to place and he keeps staring at Keith with wide, brown eyes. His outfit is ridiculous, which shouldn’t mean anything at a rennfaire, but it’s even more cringeworthy than most. He looks like the cross between a wizard and a janitor. 

“I’m… not going to give you any horse droppings,” Keith says carefully. He can’t figure out why he’s so frustrated with the situation. Maybe it has something to do with this being the third such request he has had from this off-putting character. 

“You must!” the man insists. “The fate of the entire kingdom depends on it!”

“Listen, man, I just work here,” Keith says, desperate to avoid the role-play. “I’m not a character or whatever.”

“Character? You think this is a _game_??”

“Slav,” says Shiro and Keith wants to cry with relief. “Your show starts in 5 minutes. What are you doing here?”

“I am _trying_ to get the components of a powerful spell that will rid the land of the evils that would prey upon it!” the man says, his hands spread in emphasis. “This kingdom is not _safe_.”

Shiro sighs in a way that shows that he has just as much patience left as Keith. “That’s-- great, Slav. Really great.”

“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation,” Slav says, gesturing widely. “This whole kingdom-- IS THAT A MOUSE?!” He jumps violently and clings to Shiro, armor and all. A chipmunk froze on the windowsill, eying them all. 

“Shiro,” Keith says, suppressing a snarl. “Please get him out of here.”

“YES,” Slav agrees. “I NEED TO LEAVE RIGHT NOW.”

“S-Stop yelling!” Shiro says, prying the little man off of himself. “We’re leaving just-- ugh.” With one last tug, he frees himself and Slav stumbles backwards. Then Shiro wrestles with one of the little leather satchels on his belt and produces a letter, folded neatly. “Here, pretty sure this is for you.”

Keith blinks in surprise when he realizes that the letter is being handed to him. He takes it reluctantly, immediately terrified of its contents. The strange wizard janitor man forgotten, he watches the letter long after he and Shiro leave the stables. 

He has to open it. There’s no way he can’t open it, right? It’s addressed to the ‘Stable Boy’. He’s the only one under 40 working here. He has to open it.

It’s written by hand in blue ink:

_This is for the Stable Boy,_

_Hey. Hi. How’s it going?_

_I’ve never written a love letter before, so I hope you’ll bear with me. I guess I could write a sonnet or a poem but I have a feeling you wouldn’t be into that._

_I just want you to know that I think you’re cool. More than cool: you’re someone I want to get to know. At first I wasn’t sure about you but it didn’t take long. Actually I’m kind of embarrassed how little time it took me to develop this ridiculous crush I have on you._

_Wow, there, I said it. I have a crush on you._

_\- Lame_

Keith is a mess. His face as been replaced with a mask of molten lava and he’s pretty sure his heart is not supposed to beat quite so fast. After staring at the letter for all of 30 seconds he sinks to the floor, crouching with his face buried in his knees.

 

The only coherent thought he manages in those awkward 5 minutes is how badly he needs a vacation.

Keith’s stealth skills are being put to the test more than ever before. Unfortunately the summer sun keeps him from hiding under his hoodie so he hopes that charging through the faire with his eyes on the ground is enough to deter would-be admirers from trying to draw him into conversation. He is terrified of the moment when ‘Lame’, whoever they may be, decides to confront him face to face. How is he supposed to act around someone who has a crush on him? Has he met them already? He considers the girls who he has caught watching him, or the ones who have been bold enough to approach him.

By noon his nerves are frazzled from hiding and avoiding potential culprits. Anytime someone says his name he has a minor heart attack and he skips lunch so that he doesn’t have to go to the village square where the love letter board is erected. 

By the end of the day his lack of sustenance is catching up with him and he is feeling cranky. Shiro hasn’t come by the stables after handing off the letter to him and Keith hasn’t had a real conversation with anyone since then. Even Lance has been too busy to come by the stables, and for some reason Keith lets this bother him more than it should. At least Lance would be able to tease Keith out of his self-consciousness and make light of the love letter. Not that Keith will ever show the letter to another human being.

He’s considering stopping at Tim Hortons on his way back to his room at the Ranch as he packs up his things and prepares to sneak away to his truck. His stomach is beyond growling and is starting to eat itself painfully instead.

Someone has finally come to visit him in the stables, but it isn’t Lance or Shiro. Princess Allura, in all her costumed glory, is practically blocking his exit. She’s eying him with her hands on her hips and he watches her eyes travel from his boots up to the top of his head. 

“You’re Keith,” she says, and it isn’t a question. Her eyes travel down again. “You’ll do. We need you at the feast tonight.”

Keith is too stunned to speak right away, but his usual defiance rises to reply. “I’m done my shift.”

“Perfect. You can work the feast. It’s an easy job, and you’ll be paired with Shiro.”

It’s hard to remember that Allura isn’t really a princess. Her posture and tone of voice are regal and dominant. It takes Keith some bolstering to stand up to her. “No, thanks,” he says with a frown. “I’m tired and I want to go home.”

She narrows her indigo eyes at him before striding forward to close the gap between them. She is level with him, but somehow seems taller. It is an effort not to flinch from the sternness of her face as she aggressively enters Keith’s space.

She stops just before him, her eyes flashing dangerously. She holds Keith’s stare for a moment before speaking. “I’ll give you 50 bucks.”

“100.”

“80. That’s my final offer.” She puts out a hand and before Keith can stop himself, he has made a deal. He feels shocked from the sudden realization.

“Good,” Allura says, stepping back and relaxing somewhat. “Shiro needs a squire to carry his banner. You’ll be fed at the feast. I need you to change into costume, too.” She retreats to grab a cloth bag that she had left at the threshold of the stable door. 

“Wait-- costume?” Keith says with some amount of panic. 80 dollars is not worth a costume, he realizes suddenly. 80 dollars is nothing.

“You made a deal, Keith,” Allura says with a glare. She holds out the bag and Keith is reluctant to take it. “It should fit you. Put it on before Shiro comes to pick you up in 20 minutes.”

Keith grimaces at the bag, as if it is filled with manure. Then he looks up at Allura’s steely gaze and back again. He takes it slowly and she smiles at a job well done.

“Wonderful. See you at the feast!” She curtsies with grace before turning in a swirl of skirts and marching away from the stables.

\---------------------

Lance gawks at Keith from across the great hall, unable to keep a reserved look on his face. He has been staring ever since Hunk had elbowed him hard in the ribs ten minutes ago, after they had paraded into the room. The knights of the joust are all lined along the edge of the hall, overlooking the long dressel tables of guests awaiting the entrance of the princess. Hunk is dressed as Lance’s squire, a blue tunic with Captain Fitzwilliam Colbalt’s shark emblem, belted over grey leather pants and tall boots. He’s also holding a standard, which he leans on like a walking stick.

Lance has been allowed to wear his captain’s outfit again, which is a relief, as he considers it much more dashing than the regal costume of a knight. Of course, Shiro makes that outfit look amazing, but he looks amazing in anything.

Keith is standing beside Shiro on the opposite wall in a squire’s outfit similar to Hunk’s. He is wearing a tight silver shirt under the black tunic’s short sleeves, and his leather pants hug his legs under knee-length boots. His bracers and belt are black, too, and someone has given him a cape with a silver fur collar.

“How come his costume is better than mine?” Hunk asks in a whisper. “Just because he’s Shiro’s squire…”

“I’ll buy you something cute,” Lance replies in a breath. Not as cute as _that_ , though. Keith, who hates costumes more than anyone else at the faire, is managing to put everyone else to shame. His trademark scowl is doing nothing to break the illusion, either. It makes him look like he has a dark and tragic backstory.

The princess is announced by Coran as the regent and the winner of the joust. She strides into the room along the centre carpet, waving to the guests who cheer and applaud her entrance. She looks even more splendid than usual, in a peach gown accented by white rose motifs embroidered in her skirt and sleeves. There are pink flowers woven into her long hair.

She takes her seat in the centre of the long table at the end of the hall, under two crossed swords over a stone mantle. To her left and right are seats for the knights and their squires and she gestures for them to join her.

Providence has placed the black and blue knights beside one another, and Lance is grinning by the time they join Shiro and Keith at the table.

“My lords,” he says with a slight bow. “How do you fare this fine evening?”

The look on Keith’s face says murder, but Shiro smiles pleasantly. “I believe the custom is to address the princess first, Captain.”

Lance glances over to Allura, who raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Of course,” Lance says with a flourish of his hand. He makes his way to the centre of the table, across from Allura and where all the room can see him. “Your majesty,” he says grandly. “Never have I seen such gallant horsemanship on the field. You are truely are fierce as you are beautiful. If I may, I wish to reaffirm my loyalty to you and the kingdom. My sword and my ship are at your command!”

“Captain,” Allura replies. “I thank you for your fealty. I look forward to hearing stories of your deeds upon the high seas. My coffers want for American gold.”

“And you shall have it, Princess, and more than you cannot imagine.”

Allura smiles and nods her head to dismiss him, and Lance lowers another bow before sweeping off to his seat between Hunk and Keith.

“I see you have risen in the ranks, young horsemaster,” he says to Keith who looks about as jumpy as a rabbit in a doghouse. “Squire Keith, is it?”

“Allura had to bribe him,” Shiro says with a grin as he takes a sip from his goblet. “They won’t tell me how much.”

Keith is scowling down at his empty plate, looking mutinous, so Lance can’t help but prod him some more.

“Come on, Keith,” he says leaning on his elbows to get a better look at his face. “You are in good company and the food is going to be awesome. Lighten up, will you?”

“You should have seen the size of the pig,” Hunk agrees. “It’s been slow roasting all day.”

As if on cue, the servers appear through side doors carrying trays laden with food. The dishes are first brought to the head table, as is tradition, where Allura approves or disapproves of them before they are passed around to the other tables. The head of the pig is laid in front of her, looking pleasantly cooked with an apple in its mouth. It is followed by roasted root vegetables, thick yellow soup, cheese platters, fresh breads, meat pies and a multitude of other dishes. Servers dressed in plain colours come round to ensure their goblets are full of juice or water (they are on the clock, after all) and they wait for the princess to raise hers in toast.

“Thank you all for joining me on this day of celebration,” she says formally, and everyone raises their goblets in response.

The rest is eating. And _eating_. It is called a ‘feast’, after all, and the boys do not hesitate to take full advantage of the bounty before them. It’s an effort, actually, to maintain character when you’re hungry from a long day and everything tastes so fucking good. Lance hopes to god no one is watching him because he is on his third helping of potatoes with gravy within the first 15 minutes.

The rest of the evening is given over to entertainment and socializing, with the best performers-- the jugglers, the fire eaters, and the musicians-- playing in a cleared area in the centre of the room. The staff are given leave to mingle with the guests, who had paid tickets for the event and many of whom are wearing their own costumes or formal wear.

Lance finds Keith hiding in the corner of the hall, taking mouse bites of a tart and eyeing the crowd with apprehension. He looks like a cornered animal, complete with silvery fur from his cape.

“Having fun yet?” Lance asks with a smirk.

Keith gives Lance a scathing look. “I don’t understand how you can be so comfortable,” he says with a pout. “I feel like everyone’s watching me.”

Lance glances around the hall. It is full to bursting with merry revellers, but none are looking at the captain and the squire in the dark corner. “Dude, you need to relax,” Lance says with a sigh. “You realize everyone else is wearing a costume, right? And some of them…” He eyes a what he assumes is a wizard costume made out of a bathrobe. “Let’s just say, you don’t look out of the ordinary.”

Keith looks down, and his frown looks pensive now. 

“In fact,” Lance ventures carefully. “Who ever chose that costume did a pretty good job. You look good in black.”

This makes Keith’s eyes shoot up again. “Are you making fun of me?”

Lance laughs. “No, man! Just take the compliment. Believe me: I’ve had two people already ask me who you are. I lied-- you _do_ stand out, but not in the way you think.”

The tops of Keith’s cheeks are touched red and he drops his gaze again. “I’m not sure what to do with that information.”

“If it were me, I’d me _all over that_. That’s basically a free license to flirt, man.”

“I’m pretty sure you’d flirt anyway,” Keith says accusingly. “But… I don’t flirt. I barely even _talk_.”

“Oh, flirting’s _easy_.” Lance lets his gaze fall over the crowd again. A girl a few metres away is talking too animatedly to notice that she has dropped a folded piece of paper. “Take that girl for example-- the one in the maroon dress. Flirting follows these simple steps: one, the ice breaker. ‘Milady, you have dropped something.’ Two, the formalities, ‘I hope you are enjoying the feast.’ Three, a break in character, ‘I-- Sorry, do I know you from somewhere?’.”

Keith snorts a laugh out of his nose. “And that actually works?”

“Every time. A little honest moment is all it takes to convince someone that you are not just an actor paid to talk to them.”

“So…” Keith says slowly, brushing the rest of the crumbs off his fingers. “One, breaking the ice, ‘M’lord, Sir Ebony wishes to pay his compliments.’ Two, formalities, ‘You rode splendidly. We look forward to watching you joust again.’ Three, breaking character.” He reaches slowly to Lance’s face and hesitates. “Sorry, you have a bit of-- here.” He softly brushes a thumb over a spot just beside Lance’s lips. “Gravy.” He flicks his tongue over his thumb in an offhand way. 

Lance closes his mouth quickly as he feels the creep of heat up the back of his neck. “Yeah. Yepp. That was good,” he says in a rush. “That works.” He turns away to the crowd, wracking his brain for a way to ease the heaviness in the air. 

“Huh. I’ll have to try it sometime,” Keith says softly, and after a moment, Lance looks over to see him grinning wickedly. 

“Oh, get lost,” Lance says with a laugh, realizing he’s being made fun of. He nudges Keith with the heel of his hand on the shoulder, and Keith allows a chortle before shouldering past him to rejoin Shiro at the table.

Grinning, Lance follows.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! This week was suuuuper busy for me!

Allura curties to the tall, imposing man with the clean cut grey hair and the steely gaze. He isn’t looking at her, except to flick his eyes quickly over her attire before surveying the rest of the surroundings. He is wearing an exceptionally fine suit; simple, but clearly well-tailored. 

_He’s already appraising the land,_ she thinks with a twinge of annoyance. 

Beside the man stands his son-- as equally well dressed, but with a flare that suggests a sense of fashion. His off white shirt is unbuttoned at the top and instead of a tie a purple patterned handkerchief sticks artfully out of his umber suit jacket. He wears long, white blonde hair in a loose bun. His smile is almost a smirk and he watches Allura with a hint of amusement in his eyes. 

“I have the figures in my office,” Kolivan says from his place beside Allura. He is not wearing a costume-- he seldom does, but he looks almost as put-together as the formidable businessman in front of him. “Unless you wish for a tour of the grounds beforehand.”

The older man grimaces, as if being fed something foul. “The figures,” he says in a voice that sounds like gravel. “I will send my assistant to oversee the property.”

“Allow me, father,” the young man says, stepping forward. Something in his voice makes him sound not far from a reenactor himself, or perhaps it is in his body language. Allura stops herself from narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “My curiosity has been peaked. If you would escort me, Princess.”

His father sucks his teeth impatiently and turns away in the direction of Kolivan’s office, leaving Allura to nurse a growing distaste for the man in front of her. But he is the son of the landlord and the landlord holds the future of the faire in his hands. 

“What would you like to see?” she therefore says, putting a pleasant smile on her features. 

“Well,” he begins, letting his gaze travel beyond her to the surrounding square. “Do you have any horses?”

\----------

Keith watches as Lance drops three juggling balls again and laughs as he goes running after them as they scatter about the grass. Ezor is a young woman from a local circus school who works as a performer for the summer, and she is attempting to teach Captain Cobalt to juggle. His coat is laid aside, and the sleeves of his white shirt are rolled to his elbows. A small crowd has stopped to watch him struggle and banter with the woman, and he elicits laughs and cheers from them in turn. 

Keith rests his chin on his arms, which he perches on the wooden fence. He is far enough away that he can’t quite hear what Lance is saying, but it isn’t hard to fill in the blanks. Lance keeps flailing his arms with emphasis and gesturing wildly at the balls that he can’t seem to catch. Ezor has reduced him to only 2 balls at once, but it doesn’t stop him from fumbling and sending one ball careening over the heads of the crowd. Keith can’t help chuckling at the display.

Lance chooses that moment to glance over in Keith’s direction and grin. He waves like a little kid, forcing Keith to wave back and making a warm feeling blossom in the bottom of his stomach. 

Keith sighs at himself and pushes himself into a stand. When the gesture doesn’t make the hot feeling go away he closes his eyes and takes a breath. He is absolutely determined not to let this happen to him. There is no way, _no way_ , he is going to let himself develop any kind of crush on that stupid, goofy pirate. Yes, Lance is physically attractive, and flirty, and will not leave Keith alone, but just _look_ at him. He’s wearing a _costume_. And the fact that the costume looks _really good_ on him did not redeem the fact that Lance is still basically running around in cosplay.

Keith looks back over to where Lance has turned his full attention to Ezor, who has reclaimed her juggling balls. They are both laughing and Keith let’s the last of the hot feeling fade from his stomach. Lance is also undoubtedly straight, and like those who came before him, he is doomed to remain a reluctant friend forever. 

But Keith will not mope about that. No siree. He’s not attracted to Lance and he never will be. Besides, he has more pressing issues. Like the fact that he is basically being stalked and he has no idea how to feel about it.

Not that the second letter, which Shiro hands to him that morning, is any more graphic than the first one. In fact, it’s kind of adorable, and it’s hard not to feel a little flattered that someone is attracted to him, even if they turn out to be some teenaged girl.

_ Stable Boy, _

_ I told myself I wouldn’t write another one of these, and actually I’ll be surprised if it ever sees the light of day, but I have to tell you, at least, that it was hard not to notice you last night. I swear, this isn’t just a physical attraction, despite the fact that you looked amazing in that squire uniform.  _

_ Wow, how about I say something a lot less creepy? Like, how did you like the food at the feast? I wasn’t crazy about the pork but the dumplings that they served in gravy blew my mind a little bit. I thought people back in ye olde times were supposed to eat dirt or whatever. My friend thinks the best part was dessert. _

_ I think maybe you’re not big on these sort of faires but I gotta say: I love them. I love the pretending and the making friends and the fresh air. I wish I could hang out with you and show you how much fun it could be. Or maybe you already love it, in your own way. I wish I knew what you loved.  _

_ So if this letter is totally too creepy and you want me to stop writing then maybe leave me a reply on the board? Last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable. Maybe it’s too late for that. Sorry. All you have to say is ‘fuck off’ or whatever. :) _

_ \- Lame _

“I didn’t think people wrote anything by hand anymore,” says a new voice, making Keith jump. He hadn’t meant to read the damn letter again, but he couldn’t help himself from trying to find clues in it as to who might have written the words. When he looks beyond the stable door, he sees Allura standing beside a tall, well-dressed man. He folds the letter quickly a stows it in his jean pocket.

“Can I help you?” he says quickly to cover the flush he can feel creeping over his cheeks. 

“Keith, this is Lotor,” Allura says in introduction. “He’s the landlord’s son.” She gives Keith a significant look that is impossible to misunderstand. “He was interested in the horses.”

“I own three,” the man says in an offhand way. “And I have been riding since I was a child.” He steps into the stable towards Keith, looking at him as if sizing him up. Then he grins. “And so have you, I’ll wager.”

Keith isn’t sure why that makes him want to look away, and he forces himself to hold the man’s unwavering gaze.

“If you have time,” Allura goes on. “Perhaps you could take him for a ride through the faire. I can’t imagine a better way to tour.”

Keith feels a stab of anxiety that he tries to convey to the princess through his eyes. _Why me?_ the look says. _Why is the fate of the faire being left to the only person who doesn’t want to be here? What the hell do I do if I fuck up? WHEN I fuck up._ But Allura feigns a lack of understanding and steps away from the stable. “I will leave you to it, then. I am needed elsewhere.” Keith watches her go, the sense of anxiety rising as he is left alone with the stranger.

“I promise not to bite,” the man says, and Keith wishes he wouldn’t. The forced familiarity is doing nothing to distract the fact that this guy’s father was out to shut down the faire. It is suddenly Keith’s duty to impress him with a ride through the grounds. Keith swallows hard.

The man talks lightly as Keith saddles up two horses-- Blue and the big black stallion usually reserved for Shiro. Red is restless in his stable, and he keeps tossing his head to try to communicate with Keith. “No, Red,” he says impatiently. “This isn’t a joust.”

“I like him,” Lotor says with a smirk as he leans on the stable door. “He has a fire in his eyes.”

“Yeah, well, that fire makes him run when he’s supposed to walk and try to eat people’s hats, so he’s staying here.” Keith makes a little impatient gesture at the horse who is creeping towards Lotor as if Keith couldn’t see what he was trying to do.

“I’m guessing he’s about as stubborn as you are,” Lotor says with a playful smile that could be directed at the horse or the horse master. “I bet you like to joust, don’t you, you spicy boy?” He pats Red on the jaw, making the horse toss his head appreciatively.

In the end Lotor rides Blue and they mount outside the stable. Keith has to hand it to the man-- he is somehow riding in a half-suit and making the whole experience look comfortably easy. He holds himself with dignity and ease, with his back straight and a smile on his lips. 

“Impressed?” he says, forcing Keith to look away. Lotor laughs as they pull the horses into a slow walk. “Keith, was it? What brings you here, Keith?”

Keith tries not to frown. Weren’t they here to view the faire? “A job,” he says shortly. “Like everyone else.”

“A talented rider like you?” Lotor says, which Keith thinks is a bit generous-- so far all they are doing is riding in a straight line down the dusty road that leads to the village square. “Surely you are wasted on a place like this. What do they pay you?”

“Enough,” Keith says evasively. It wasn’t much, to be sure, but it was enough to keep him here for the season. Not that this was any of Lotor’s business. “I get to work with horses and they don’t ask me to dress up.”

“Ah yes, the _costumes_ ,” Lotor says with a certain amount of disdain in his tone. Somehow it irks Keith and he tries not to glare over at the man. “How a place like this draws any crowd is beyond me.”

They pass a group of girls who seem to make eyes at the two men on horseback as they step out of the way. Lotor makes a quiet impatient sound as they pass. “What is it that a lord calls people like that? Peasants?” He barks a sharp laugh that Keith doesn’t join in for.

“They’re just having fun,” Keith says before he can stop himself. “At least they aren’t stuck in front of their computers or whatever.”

Lotor is looking at Keith and smiling in an odd way. “My apologies, Keith,” he says in a lighter tone. “I shouldn’t be mocking your workplace. Not exactly the best way to win you over.”

Keith feels a jump in his belly. “I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be the other way round,” he mumbles, trying not to frown in confusion.

Lotor laughs at this. “Oh, don’t tell me you are trying to flirt, too?”

There’s no helping the hot flush that fills Keith’s face. “I-- I don’t mean that. I mean, the _faire_.” Lotor is still laughing, which suggests he is finding Keith’s struggles hilarious. 

“And what, pray tell, is so funny?” 

Keith looks over to Lance, who has donned his coat again and is leaning on a signpost in a casually suave manner. He looks at Keith’s face and raises an eyebrow. “You OK, buddy?”

His concern does nothing to chase the blush off of Keith’s cheeks, and he considers turning the horse around and making a mad dash for the stables. “I’m fine,” he says too quickly.

Lance looks at the other rider beyond Keith and his eyes narrow. “Who’s your friend?”

“Lotor,” Keith says, amazed that he remembered the name. “The landlord’s son.”

“Perfect,” Lance mutters, his frown deepening. He pushes himself off of the signpost and crosses his arms over his chest. “I guess he’s here to shut us down?”

“That will be for my father to decide,” Lotor says, his eyes searching the Captain. “What are you supposed to be?”

“Captain Fitzwilliam Cobalt, of the _León_ , privateer in service of the princess,” Lance says with dignity before dropping into a sweeping bow.

“A pirate?” Lotor ventures. “Where’s your beard?”

Keith can see Lance prickling, but is impressed that he doesn’t lose his cool. “I left it betwixt your mother’s legs to keep her warm in my absence.”

Keith actually has to stifle a laugh as he watches Lotor’s mouth open slowly and eyes widen. “Alright,” he says quickly. “Let’s go. I’ll show you the main stage.” He kicks the stallion into a walk, hoping Lotor will follow, and that he won’t see the fits of silent laughter fighting for dominance in his watering eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

“That was stupid,” Keith tells Lance, who is clutching his stomach in laughter. His mirth is echoed around the room, with several others howling and slapping each other on the backs. The little common room, which is shared by the 8 people who live in the staff housing, is filled with faire staff out of costume. It is a strange sight, seeing knights without their armor, ladies without their gowns, and sailors without their uniforms. Everyone was drinking, too, which didn’t make them any less silly than they usually were at the faire.

Shiro is the one who convinced Keith to come to this stupid thing. “It’s a staff party,” he had insisted. “You are staff.” But as much as Keith complained, he felt himself less against the party than he thought he would be. Maybe because no one expects him to wear a costume this time.

After an exhausting and busy week, the staff are looking forward to a break. Tomorrow is a holiday, and the faire will be closed. Not that the staff, many of whom live dorm style just outside the faire grounds, avoid drinking on work nights. But this is a proper party-- even Allura is here.

“That _was_ stupid,” Allura agrees from her place in a deep armchair. She is cradling a tumbler of whisky and even in her casual shorts and off-shoulder tee, she looks regal. “Lance, you are forbidden to talk to Lotor ever again.”

“How about this mother?” Lance says with a wiggle of his eyebrows and the room is reduced to laughter again. Allura rolls her eyes. Keith can’t help laughing, too, because he’s had two beers already and he’s finally able to look back at the situation without cringing.

He had managed to shake Lotor after an awkward tour around the grounds, where Lotor went back to insulting every aspect of the faire. It was a relief, really, because Keith wasn’t sure he could have handled any more flirting. The truth was, Keith promised himself 2 years ago that he was done with guys like Lotor-- the self-important, entitled ones who don’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He hates himself for even considering it.

But now, surrounded by happy, honest drunks, it is easy to leave the past in the past and enjoy the simplicity of the present. Someone had challenged Shiro to shots and now he is in the hallway, fencing with plastic swords with his friend Matt who keeps yelling quotes from some fantasy movie at him. 

“I know something you don’t know!” Matt hollers with a forced accent.

“And what is that?” Shiro counters with a grunt that suggests he is trying to push Matt off balance.

“I am not left handed!” He laughs and there’s a violent _thump_ that means someone was just pinned to the wall. 

Hunk and one of the knights are sitting at the table, making strained faces at one another as they arm wrestle, and several others are cheering them on.

Lance is sitting on the couch, one of his arms stretched behind a girl that Keith recognizes from the trio of tavern singers. Her cheeks are pink with alcohol and pleasure. “Seriously, though, you should have seen his face. Keith, tell them!”

Keith finishes his beer and sits back on his kitchen chair, which creaks under him. “Yeah, he looked about ready to shut us down on the spot.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Lance says. “I was just acting in character.”

“And that character is an ass, apparently.”

Lance makes a little offended noise while those listening start laughing again. Keith is grinning, because teasing Lance is quickly becoming his favourite pastime. He would keep doing it, too, if Shiro doesn’t interject to yank Keith into a game of beer pong which he has decided will settle a disagreement between himself and Matt. Shiro and Keith faceoff against Matt and Ezor and it isn’t long before Matt is bowing before Keith as the unchallenged winner and Keith is spreading out his arms in drunken pride.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Shiro says as he gathers Keith into a tight hug. “You aren’t the guy I met two years ago.” Keith tries to disentangle himself from the hug before Shiro gets too serious, but _damn_ is the guy strong. “You’re growing up. You’re making _friends_.”

“Sir Ebony,” says the voice of Captain Cobalt. “Do I need to save your fair squire before you squeeze the life out of him?” 

Shiro releases Keith and puts a heavy, clumsy hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Captain Lance,” he says drunkenly. “Perfect. I need you to care for my dear, darling Keith. _Sir_ Keith. He’s drunk.”

Keith laughs. “Speak for yourself!” 

“I’m serious, Lance,” Shiro says, and now he has a hand on either shoulder, peering into Lance’s startled eyes. “This guy is _important_. You have to be good to him.”

“Upon my life,” Lance says, putting a hand over his breast. “I will strive to deserve him.”

“Jesus, guys,” Keith says, because the whole charade is ridiculous. “You can drop the characters.”

“NEVER!” Lance proclaims, and he assaults Keith with an arm over his shoulders. “I am Captain Cobalt, the fiercest sailor between here and Lake Ontario! Stealer of hearts and cash moneys!” He clears his throat, and somehow Keith knows exactly what’s about to happen.

“ _OOoooh, the year was 1778!_ ” he sings in a deep singing voice.

Keith has heard the song sung many times in the faire tavern, and it is hard not to join in at the refrain when everyone else does. Lance does not release him as he carries the main points of the song, and he sways a little to the tune, catching Keith’s eye every so often to wink knavishly.

And when that’s over with, Lance tugs at Keith’s hand to force him outside, where everyone’s gathered around a giant jenga set, which is already teetering precariously. Keith allows himself to be egged on to take a piece from the bottom, and predictably the tower collapses with a resounding crash. He laughs along with the others, because he is too drunk to be self conscious. 

“Lance, accompany me,” Allura says when they come face to face with her. She has an incredibly straight face, almost _too_ straight. “I wish to parlay with you.”

Lance links arms with Keith, pulling him close almost protectively. “I made a promise to Sir Shiro,” he says with a slur in his Captain voice. “I must protect him with my very _life_.”

“Lance,” Allura says with emphasis. She puts her hands on her hips and swags a little uncharacteristically. “This is about _you know what_.”

“Ah.” Lance looks down at Keith, who is trying to not look as confused as he is (or as drunk). He releases Keith’s arm and steps away tentatively. “I’m sorry, poppet,” he says, lifting Keith’s hand to his mouth and kissing his fingers lightly. “I must leave you in Hunk’s capable hands.”

Hunk, who is setting up the jenga tower again, starts at the sound of his name. “I AM NOT CAPABLE OF ANYTHING RIGHT NOW, LANCE,” he says with real alarm. 

\---------------

Lance hates his life. He hates it now, in this moment, even more than the time he managed to fail his calculus final. This moment is like the time he went streaking and was caught on a security camera at the 7 Eleven near his college dorm. Only, this time he _also_ has a hangover which is making every problem seem so, so much worse.

“Why,” he croaks again from his bed, with two hands on his face. “Why didn’t you stop me, Hunk?”

Hunk is already out of bed and has been since 8am, when he went for a jog and brought back a coffee from Timmy’s. Lance wants to forgive his roommate after seeing the wonderful cup of terribly coffee, but he’s too busy feeling humiliated. 

“You seemed like you were having fun,” Hunk says as he pulls a needle in and out of the garment that he is repairing. 

“That’s the problem!” Lance whines. “I was having _far too much fun_. I completely lost myself. I had no idea-- I didn’t _care_.” He rubs his face up and down furiously. It’s not helping his headache. “I was _all over him_ , Hunk. I don’t even remember half of what I said to him but I’m pretty sure it was bad.”

Hunk sighs. “He didn’t seem to mind, dude. At least, he wasn’t running away or anything. You probably were just really friendly.”

Lance shakes his head slowly, and he feels the hangover lurch back and forth in his brain. “I _know_ I was flirting. I can remember that much. I just don’t remember the details, you know? Like, did I ask for his number?”

“You kissed his hand,” Hunk offers in a voice that is way too calm. “Like, Captain Cobalt-style.”

“WHAT.” Lance sits up so fast that he feels a wave of nausea come over him. But he’s too busy staring at Hunk in horror to notice. “I DID WHAT?!”

“Everyone was goofing off last night, man,” Hunk reasons, putting down his sewing to give Lance a withering look. “Allura kept telling people to call her ‘Princess’ and I’m pretty sure Pidge has a character name now.”

“Which is…?”

“The Green Knight. She managed to knock Shiro over and decided she wants to follow in Allura’s footsteps. It was a crazy night, man.”

Lance falls back onto his pillow with a groan. “That’s funny, actually.” He heaves a sigh. “Do you think he knows?”

“Who?”

“Who do you think?” Lance snaps. “Keith! Do you think he’s going to know I like him-- oh god!” He sits up again, which his stomach doesn’t appreciate. “Do you think he’ll figure out the letters?!”

Hunk heaves a shrug and goes back to his work. “You’ll probably find out tomorrow,” he offers, which only serves to make Lance more terrified. He groans.

“I think I’m going to die tomorrow.”

“If you don’t die today.”

Lance spends the rest of the day wishing he would.


	10. Chapter 10

Keith can feel his resolve waning. The dam is spilling over and the last of his determination is leaking out of his ears and running hot down the sides of his face. It’s getting to the point where he feels as though he is melting, too-- his skin is hot and his heart and breath are working sporadically.

During the day he tries to ignore the feeling-- he focuses on the horses and cleaning and ignores the outside world. But then he goes to the village square to get lunch and he sees Lance talking to the tourists. Their eyes meet and Lance waves in that earnest way that makes Keith wave back. That’s when the melting feeling is at its peak.

It doesn’t help that summer is finally here. By noon the sun is beaming through the tall pine trees that are supposed to serve to shelter the dusty laneways and square. Everyone feels the heat-- not least of all the players who have to wear layers of costume. By 1pm most of the entertainment takes place either on the shaded outdoor stage or inside the tavern. The heat doesn’t stop the tourists from showing up in force, now that summer vacation has officially begun.

Keith is grateful he is able to dress down. He ties his hair back to keep it off of his neck and wears a tanktop when he’s labouring. He feels for the knights, but at least their programming has been restricted to either first thing in the morning or late at night. Management has installed a small air conditioner in their break room in the stables, too, but it only helps so much.

No one stops Keith from nesting in that break room when he’s in between shifts. It’s a great place to hide, since the rest of the staff haven’t gotten wise about the new installation yet. Keith needs the privacy, because he’s busy trying to sort out what has happened to his resolve. 

The party had not helped the situation. Turns out Lance is an affectionate drunk, who can’t keep his hands to himself. Keith supposes he could have told him off, but he was equally drunk and was thoroughly enjoying having Lance pressed beside him on the couch, or arms linked with him, or resting a head on his shoulder. He even didn’t mind that ridiculous kiss on the hand, despite how overly dramatic it was. 

And now Keith is staring at the number on his contact list under the name ‘Captain Lance’. He can’t remember who had inputted the number. He imagines with a thrill of pleasure that it was Lance-- but even then, everyone probably has his number by now. Lance collects friends like a squirrel in fall, as if expecting a winter to leave him without.

He probably doesn’t realize what his attentions are doing to Keith. And he never will. Keith is quite happy to nurse his feelings deep down, under all of his protective layers. 

Instead he walks in a hot daze all day, trying, and failing, not to carefully develop a detailed fantasy about yanking Lance into the stables by his collar and furiously making out against the wall. 

\---------

There’s a reply on the love letter board. 

There’s a FUCKING REPLY ON THE LOVE LETTER BOARD. 

Lance is standing by Hunk’s food stall practically hyperventilating. It’s got a nice bit of shade that only helps so much against the sun. Lance is being responsibly today and drinks lots of water on shift, but now that he has spotted the letter he can’t fucking breathe.

“Do you want me to go get it for you?” Hunk offers, looking as unimpressed as he usually does when Lance freaks out about his relationships. Hunk is one of those annoyingly pragmatic lovers, who faces his feelings head on and is honest with those he loves. His advice to Lance has been nothing but unhelpful things like: ‘Tell him how you feel’ and ‘ask him if he’s into guys’. As if Lance would ever broach the relationship conversation with Keith, the object of his frustratingly persistent crush.

“I’ll get it!” Lance says in a voice that is an octave too high. “I’m just thinking about it first. I mean, I don’t want to look too eager. What if he’s watching?” He swings his head around the village square, but Keith is nowhere in sight.

Hunk sighs. “Take your time then.”

Lance is starting to remember how to breathe again and now a paralyzing anxiety is taking hold. What if the note tells him to ‘fuck off’? What if the letters have offended Keith beyond measure?

Or, what if he likes them and he wants to know who ‘Lame’ is?

“Shit,” Lance says through clenched teeth. “I can’t.”

Hunk heaves another sigh. “Watch my cart, will ya?” He walks over to the board, glances over the various numbers and names on folded pieces of paper, and removes several of them. He comes back, looking from one to another. “Not a bad haul. Three for me and two for you. I think I’m winning!”

Lance snatches the two letters from Hunk, giving him a glare. “It isn’t a competition.”

“Oh, what, just because I’m winning, it’s no longer a competition?”

Lance can’t reply, because he’s too busy staring at the letter. One is addressed to ‘Captain Cobalt’ in loopy writing. The other simply says ‘Lame’. Why the hell had he wrote down such a stupid, self-deprecating pseudonym for himself? Why not something dashing and mysterious? Why not simply ‘Your Secret Admirer’? 

_Because I am lame _, he reminds himself, as he slowly opens the letter and begins to read.__

__ _Dear ‘Lame’,_ _ _

__ _First of all, thank you. No, you aren’t being creepy-- in fact, this is probably the least creepy anonymous message I have ever received. I was definitely surprised, because I didn’t think anyone was thinking about me in that way._ _ _

__ _But I have to honest with you: I already have someone I like. Actually, I like them a lot. Enough that I have trouble thinking of anything else._ _ _

__ _I do mean it when I say ‘thank you’, though. This has managed to boost my confidence more than I thought a random letter could. Truthfully, I thought I was unlovable, and I was OK with that. But you have shown me that maybe I was wrong._ _ _

__ _We can still send these letters to each other. I understand if you don’t want to anymore, but I don’t have a lot of friends and it would be nice to have someone to talk to every once in awhile. It’s nice to know I’m not alone, you know?_ _ _

__ _Keith ‘the Stable Boy’_ _ _

__If feels as though Lance’s heart has fallen into his stomach. The slow throb of its beats are pulsing loud and slow through his entire torso. He feels a little lump of disappointment rising in his throat._ _

__“So?” asks Hunk carefully. Lance hands the letter to him wordlessly. He doesn’t even consider opening the second letter-- he already knows that it is full of the same airy romanticism as the others he has received._ _

__Hunk reads quickly and looks up to Lance with a face full of concern. “Ah-- sorry, man.” He hands back the letter and busies his hands with basting a fresh batch of chicken. “At least he doesn’t think you’re creepy.”_ _

__Lance tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but it is sticking. He is suddenly desperate for a drink of water. “Who do you think it is?” he croaks._ _

__Hunk shrugs. “I haven’t seen him with any girls since he started working here. Maybe he’s got someone at the ranch he lives at?”_ _

__Lance is wracking his brain, trying to remember the details of every single conversation he has ever had with Keith. Had he ever mentioned a girl? The ranch is owned by a woman, but Lance is fairly certain she’s old enough to be his mother. Maybe it _is_ a man, which would only add insult to injury. Could it be Shiro-- or maybe…_ _

__“Who was the landlord’s son, again?” Lance says outloud. “It was some stupid name that sounded made up.”_ _

__“Lotor,” Hunk provides in a slow, careful tone. “You don’t think Keith would like him, do you?”_ _

__Lance shrugs heavily, because he is caught between a sense of disappointment and jealousy that’s coming out as self-pity. He looks at the letter again, trying to find a silver lining to the situation. At least Keith still wants to exchange letters-- maybe that will be enough. In real life he seems willing to be friends with Lance, too. It’s entirely possible those things will be enough to tide Lance over until the feelings fade._ _

__If they ever do._ _

__He finds himself wandering over to the stables, because if he’s going to get over this thing then he’ll need to get used to seeing Keith’s face all the time, anyway, right? Or so he tells himself._ _

__There is a fair number of people on this end of the faire. With evening drawing near, the knights are preparing for their sunset joust, when the air is no longer sweltering. Several of the other food vendors have set up temporary stands here and a few guests already sit on the bandstand, awaiting the show._ _

__Lance is stopped twice for pictures, and he forces himself to put on a trademark grin before escaping as quickly as possible. He makes for the stables, where he is sure Keith has sequestered himself, wanting to avoid the crowds._ _

__But he finds Keith much sooner than that: he is on this side of the fence, talking to a tall, dark-haired man who looks to be a guest. Lance starts towards him but something stops him. He isn’t sure if it is the look on Keith’s face-- guarded and tense, or the shared body language of the two in conversation. Both look agitated, and Keith looks as though he has backed himself as close to the fence as he can._ _

__Alarm bells are ringing in Lance’s head, and he feels his legs moving on their own accord. Keith looks to him with alarm, then worry as he recognizes the newcomer. The man turns as well, and Lance judges him as in his mid twenties, though the shadow of a beard and the deep bags under his eyes seem to age him. He is frowning._ _

__“Lance,” Keith says._ _

__“Heya Keith. Sorry if I’m interrupting. The princess requires your presence and all that.” He makes a sweeping gesture to indicate the jousting arena that may or may not be actually attended by the princess._ _

__Keith looks momentarily confused before speaking. “Oh, uh--”_ _

__“You _are_ interrupting, in fact,” the man snaps and Lance feels a twinge of annoyance that he battles to control. “Who are you anyway?”_ _

__“Captain Fitzwilliam Cobalt, at your service,” Lance says with an exaggerated bow._ _

__“He works here,” Keith says quickly, as if this wasn’t obvious._ _

__“The young stable master is required for the joust, and as much as I am sure he is enjoying this conversation, he’s got work to do.” Lance is aware of the leak of sarcasm into his tone, but can’t bring himself to stifle it. He’s almost disappointed that the man doesn’t rise to the bait and instead looks hesitantly from Keith to Lance._ _

__“We’ll talk about this later,” he says to Keith finally and when he takes a step towards him, Keith flinches and takes one step back._ _

__“Yeah,” Keith says quickly. “I gotta go.” He sidesteps the man, whose hands were half raised as if to offer an embrace. He lets them fall quickly when Keith moves away._ _

__Lance follows Keith to the stables, his heart beating for a wild moment as though he had just left a tense situation. It isn’t until they are away that he realizes the muscles in his jaw had been clenched tight and he tries to relax them._ _

__Questions are already leaping to Lance’s mouth by the time they pass the threshold of the stables, but Keith whirls round and begins speaking before he can voice them._ _

__“Someone I used to know,” he blurts. “A long time ago. I-- didn’t expect to ever see him again.” Something is wrong with the way he is speaking. The last word is an octave too high and he doesn’t seem to be breathing properly. His eyes search the ground, then travel up the wall and beyond Lance to the dusty lane through the door._ _

__Lance wants to take a step towards Keith, but he imagines Keith flinching away as he had moments before. “Are you OK, buddy?” he asks in a soft voice._ _

__Keith looks at Lance as if he hadn’t realized he was there. He opens his mouth and closes it again, letting the silence stretch for several heartbeats. “I… don’t feel well,” he says finally. “Tell them I’ve gone home.” He retreats to the back door, and Lance wants to stop him to search his face for answers._ _

__“Keith,” he says, but Lance isn’t sure what else he wants to say. Keith stops and looks back, but his face is a mask of conflicting emotions. His lips part and his brows knit in worry, but he does not speak. After another moment, he turns away and is gone._ _


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are mentions of abuse in this chapter, so be warned.

Lance is trying to remember the last time he felt this uncomfortable. The heat wave is not waning, and has reached such a peak that the staff spend their spare time lolling about in the shade or taking turns in the not-so-secret air-conditioned stable staff room. Unfortunately, closing down the faire is completely out of the question, as Kolivan explains during their staff meeting.

“This is our last chance to raise enough revenue to keep the faire open,” he explains in his monotone voice. “We hope everyone will contribute to the cause, and in the end we will prevail.”

The staff are enthusiastic and eager at first, but under the oppressive heat, they can feel their resolve melting.

Lance is lying starfish style on the grass under a tall pine tree, but the shade is not stopping the heat from weighing him down. Sweat prickles on his neck and chest. He’s discarded his coat somewhere nearby but his pants are clinging to his legs uncomfortably and he’s desperate to kick off his boots.

“Why the hell doesn’t your car have air conditioning?” Pidge mutters from her spot against the trunk of the tree. At least she doesn’t have to wear a costume.

“Why don’t you _have_ a car?” Lance shoots back, but it has no real gusto behind it because he’s too damn hot.

“Please, don’t fight,” Hunk says, on Lance’s other side. “It’s too hot. Let’s just close our eyes and imagine we’re in antarctica.”

Lance closes his eyes and thinks about Keith, instead. The other reason he is so uncomfortable is the anxiety that is growing each day Keith doesn’t show up for work. He’s asked Shiro and the other knights, but so far as anyone knows, he has called in sick. Normally Lance would have joined them in lamenting that none of them had been clever enough to call in sick during this horrible heat wave, but a nagging feeling tells him that something is wrong.

Keith doesn’t strike Lance as having a weak constitution, but he is definitely someone who would rather bottle up feelings than let anyone see them. He has _layer_ , Lance knows. Under his cool demeanor he’s probably hiding all kinds of emotions, not to mention a tragic backstory.

Lance has spotted the unknown backstory several times since Keith left the faire. The tall man shows up every day, clearly not interested in the entertainment. He wanders around the park, his tired eyes searching every face. He seems to spend most of his time near the stables, like Lance does.

On the second day, he approaches Lance.

Lance has just come out of the ice box, as they have started to call the air conditioned staff room. It was 15 minutes of pure bliss, but coming out again into the inferno is almost worse than when he went in.

“Hey, how’s it going?” the man asks with a smile. Lance takes a moment to look him over. His complexion is tanned with a dark stubble covering his square jaw. With a smile, Lance has to admit that he is handsome, if you were into the dishevelled, young professional type. But there’s nothing in his appearance that is convincing Lance to trust him. Even his supposed friendliness is rubbing him the wrong way.

“Amazing,” Lance replies.

“You know Keith, right? Work with him and all?” He’s still smiling, but the expression is looking less and less sincere as he talks.

“Yeah…” Lance says slowly. His hesitation must be obvious because a flash of annoyance crosses the man’s face. But it is gone as quickly as it appeared.

“I’m just trying to get a hold of him. Do you know where he is?”

Lance is suddenly glad that he doesn’t, but he would have no problem lying to this guy if he did. “Nope.”

The annoyed look is back, and this time it doesn’t fade. “Listen, I don’t know what Keith has told you, but it doesn’t give you the right to interfere in our business.”

Keith wouldn’t have to tell Lance anything; this guy is as transparent as they come. “I don’t know where he is, dude. Just leave it.”

“Well is he at work?” the man goes on impatiently, spelling out the questions as if to a child. “Is he at home? Did he take time off?”

“Doesn’t sound like any of your business,” Lance says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you call him?”

 _Because he doesn’t have his number,_ Lance answers in his head as the man clenches and unclenches his jaw in frustration. _There is no way this guy is still on Keith’s good list._

Finally the man growls and turns to leave, and Lance feels a sense of satisfaction from watching him storm away. All pretense of good humour has evaporated and the man’s appearance seems withered and aged.

The next day, Lance sees him by the stables again, but this time they avoid one another. He’s starting to be glad that Keith hasn’t come to work, even if that means Lance isn’t able to see him either. 

Unfortunately, the man seems happy to talk to Shiro. The knight looks unfazed by the heat and is the picture of perfect customer service as he talks to the man. They are almost the same height and both are talking animatedly about something that lights up Shiro’s eyes. Lance wants to interrupt when he sees them, but is stopped by a crowd of tourists.

When he finally gets to Shiro, the man is gone. “What did you tell him?”

Shiro’s face drops in confusion and he shifts his helmet from one arm to the next.

“That guy-- the one with the face!” 

“Tom?” Shiro asks, looking just as perplexed. “Do you know him? He’s apparently a riding enthusiast. He comes to the faire to see the horses and he wanted to know all about the joust.” Shiro grins, because when it comes to jousting, he’s a bit of a nerd. It’s probably why he fits in here so well.

“Is that all?” Lance asks suspiciously. “He didn’t ask about Keith?”

“Why would he ask about Keith?” Shiro says, letting half of his grin fall. “He’s not from here. He was asking about places to ride, though. Wanted to know where the horses came from.”

The reality of the situation makes Lance’s mouth fall open. “And what did you tell him?”

“I told him to check out Tara’s. I mean, she does have the best horses in this part of the province. Are you suddenly expert on this kind of thing, because last time I saw you on a horse, I’m pretty sure someone had tied you to the saddle.”

Lance shakes his head impatiently. “That’s-- no, that’s not it. I mean, you told him where to find Tara’s Ranch, right? Where Keith lives?”

Shiro looks like he’s starting to get frustrated with how cryptic the conversation is. But Lance has no time to humour him. Instead he strides past him and gestures to the knight. “Come on. You’re going to show me how to get there.”

“Lance!” Shiro says, but he’s following anyway. “What does this have to do with Keith?”

“I’ll explain in the car.”

\------------------

Keith stands in the middle of his room, his eyes locked on the window, not seeing beyond the pane. He’s so still, he might not even be breathing. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there, but it feels like too long. He feels like he’s running out of time.

He can hear the voices in the front yard, distantly. They are calm and pleasant. They are probably talking about the weather, or about horses, or about a local sports team. A woman laughs, and Keith can tell Tara is at ease. She is not easily led astray, but she has no reason to think ill of the person she converses with. 

Keith certainly hasn’t warned her. The moment he saw the car pulling up the long gravel lane way that led to the ranch, he had fled to the house. He went upstairs and locked himself in his room. Then he stopped and listened.

He doesn’t even have his phone, he realizes with mounting panic. He can picture it plugged into the wall beside the little armchair beside the corner window-- the one he likes to sit in to watch the distant railway or read an old book. But there is no retrieving it now.

The sound of the front screen door whining on its hinges fires every nerve in Keith’s tense body. His heart is hammering in his chest and his muscles are screaming at him to act, but he is still rooted to the spot. 

“Keith!” he hears Tara call up the stairs. “There’s someone here for you.”

Forcing himself to speak is like pushing a stubborn horse upstream. His words come out strained and weak. “I’m--” He clears his throat and tries again. “I’m not feeling well.”

What are the odds that the lie was going to work? Tara rarely questions him. She generally leaves Keith to his own devices, providing food and a room in exchange for a small monthly rent. She doesn’t want to take his money, either, but he insists. She is family, technically-- his second cousin on his father’s side. The ranch had belonged to his grandfather, and she thinks he deserves to be there as much as she does. But his father had broken with the family and Keith had only met Tara once before stumbling on her doorstep two years ago. 

There is low talking in the kitchen at the bottom of the stairs. Keith strains his ears to listen, but they are clearly trying to prevent him from hearing. The male voice sends shivers up his frozen spine. His mind and vision are clouded by a shadow of panic, but still he doesn’t move.

The next sound is the creak of footsteps ascending the stairs. They are heavier than Tara’s and the panic is mounting. Keith’s mouth is dry and his chest heavy. He isn’t breathing anymore.

“Keith?” The door is so thin he can hear Tom breathing on the other side. Keith almost releases a small, frightened noise and clamps a hand over his mouth. A violent shudder passes over his body. “Can we have that talk now?”

What ever happened to the seething fire that usually burns in Keith’s belly? He is often described by others as impulsive and brash, speaking harshly before thinking and rearing up like a viper at a moment’s notice. He’s not afraid of speaking his mind or offending others-- especially if he doesn’t think much of them. He is the raging sea and a waking volcano.

So what has reduces him to cinders? What is keeping him from lashing out in anger? What has him stock still, like a rabbit? Why does he want to run away instead of fight?

The window has never opened easily. Someone painted over it and now it only opens from the top down. It’s open now about a foot: as far as it can go. A hot summer breeze is playing with the curtains through a screen that is full of pine needles. 

_I could cut the screen and shimmy out,_ he thinks wildly. _My truck is parked on the other side of the barn. I could make it if I run._

“Keith, come on,” Tom says with a exhale of breath that says he is almost out of patience. “I know you can hear me. And I know you aren’t sick. You’ve never been a good liar.” He pauses and Keith tries to force himself to take a step towards the window.

_I will have to climb the shelf. I can get a foothold if I dump the books._

“Seriously,” Tom goes on. “Do you know how long I was looking for you? How far I travelled? Keith, do you think anyone else will ever go through that much effort for you? I-- fuck, Keith-- I left my _job_ to come out here. Are you seriously going to ignore me? After all I have done for you?”

Keith has finally started towards the window. He is taking small, careful steps. He can’t let Tom know what he’s doing.

There’s a loud ‘bang’ on the door as a fist collides with it. “Come ON, Keith! You're being selfish. As _usual_. Just open the fucking door and lets _talk_ about this. Stop being a child and be reasonable for once in your fucking life!”

The anger in the tone has jump started Keith’s flight instinct. Suppressed memories of emotions and sensations are flooding the back of his head. He’s back in California, cowering in a shower. He’s picking up the pieces of a shattered picture frame. He’s changing the bandaging on his arm. 

The sound of books crashing to the wooden floor carry through the room, but Keith doesn’t stop. He needs to get to the window. He needs to get out.

“What was that? What are you doing?” The doorknob rattles. “Keith, open this door _right now_.” The door shutters under another blow-- probably a kick.

Keith climbs to the second shelf and grabs hold of the top of the window with one hand. The screen is thick from years of dust and grime. It has only a little give when Keith pushes on it with his other hand. He can see Tara jogging over to the south corral, where one of the dogs is eating something. Keith wants to call to her, but he is stricken by self doubt. No one is going to help him-- his only option is to run. It has been his only option his whole life.

“Keith, I swear to god if you are going out the window again--” Tom makes a strangled noise. “God, you haven’t fucking changed. You’re still an ungrateful jerk. You’re going to die alone-- you know that? You stupid, fucking--”

“Hey!” Someone new is yelling up the stairs and there is a cacophony as footfalls tumble up the steps.

Tom makes a loud impatient noise. “Wow. Unbelievable!”

“What’s going on here?” It’s Shiro’s voice.

“Mind your own fucking business!”

“Take a walk, asshole!” And Lance.

Keith steps down from the shelf and sinks to his knees.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A touch of Shallura in this one because they are my ~~space~~ renaissance parents.

They weren’t too late. Thank the gods of the empty prairie road, they made it in time. Lance stares down the tall man in the hallway, not ready to relax until he has left the house. And, preferably, the province.

They would have been earlier still had Shiro not insisted on changing before getting in the car. Lance didn’t see why it was necessary-- it might have been all the more intimidating showing up with, literally, a knight in shining armor.

It took only a few minutes to explain to Shiro why they were in such a rush. Lance wasn’t sure how he had managed to go from ‘I’ve got a bad feeling’ to ‘Keith is in trouble and we have to help him’, but somehow Shiro was on board long before they arrived at the ranch. 

And now, staring at the tall aggressive man in front of Keith’s door, Lance is suddenly glad to have Shiro there. Lance has never been in a real fight before, and the guy has half a head on him. As much as he might brag about his physical prowess, if it comes to blows, Lance isn’t sure he’ll come out on top. Of course, that doesn’t mean he won’t try, especially where’s Keith’s involved.

“What’s going on?” asks Tara, who has come up the stairs behind Lance. 

“Ask the guy trying to break down Keith’s door,” Lance says, not taking his eyes off of the man. The man looks from Shiro, to Lance, and then to Tara before sneering. 

“This is what I get for trying to be nice!” he spits. “You’ve really got a bunch of idiot friends, Keith. I can’t believe you losers actually trust him.”

“Get out of my house.” Tara’s voice is stern and steady, like a river. “Don’t come back.”

The man actually growls, and all of the looks in his face have turned to ugliness. He slams his fist hard into the door one more time before sweeping past Shiro. He pauses next to Lance, who makes an effort not to flinch as he leans forward aggressively.

“Don’t trust him,” he says in a low growl. “He’s a liar and a slut. He doesn’t deserve to be loved." He flashes an angry look at the closed door once more. "Don’t say you weren’t warned.” He shoulders past, knocking shoulders with Lance and descending the stairs noisily. Then the screen door scream as it opens and slams weakly. Only then does anyone move or breath.

“Jesus,” Tara says with a deep breath. “Talk about a 180.”

“Tell me about it,” agrees Shiro. There’s a moment of silence where no one know quite what to say. Everyone is trying not to look at Keith’s door, which hasn’t moved. 

“How about a beer?” Tara says eventually. “Shiro?”

“Yeah, sounds great.” They both head downstairs, neither looking at Lance or really expecting him to follow. He can hear the fridge open and a few muted words before the screen door opens again.

Lance crosses the hallway to the door and hesitates. He feels as though the floor is ice, and one wrong step will plunge him into the cold water. He wracks his brain for the words to say and the actions to take that will help Keith the most.

 _Leave him alone,_ part of his brain is saying. He knocks anyway.

“Keith, it’s just me,” he says in a small voice. “That guy left. Shiro and Tara are on the front porch.” He lets a silence stretch before him and it gives him time to weigh his words carefully.

“I’m-- I just want to make sure you’re OK. You don’t have to let me in or anything. I mean, I understand if you’re embarrassed about all of your horse posters.”

The tactic works, because there is a snort from inside the room. 

“Honestly, I wouldn’t even be surprised about your Saddle Club collection. I’m a Sweet Valley High man, myself, but to each their own.”

There’s a shuffle in the room and the sound of footsteps. Lance waits, not trusting himself to breath or speak, for fear he will spook Keith into hesitation. There’s a small click and the knob turns. 

Keith’s face is pale, but he is frowning in a familiar way. “I only read Baby-Sitters Club,” he says in a mumble. Lance can’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. Keith’s eyes linger on Lance’s chest.

“No posters, then?” Lance goes on, craning his neck to see over Keith’s head. In response, the door is opened a little wider. He can see the little room consists of mostly a bed, a bookshelf and a low table. There’s a pile of clothing in one corner and a mess of books next to the shelf. 

“No. I never got around to decorating, I guess.”

Lance hovers at the threshold of the room, caught between a desire to enter and a rational warning to not cross any boundaries. Keith hasn’t quite moved out of the way, and his hand lingers on the knob of the door, as if preparing to shut it again. His other hand is balled in a fist and it quivers very faintly.

“Keith…” He looks up at the sound of his voice and the moment their eyes meet Lance is flooded with emotions: sympathy and sadness, anger and frustration, love and empathy. The urge to wrap his arms around Keith’s tense shoulders is almost overwhelming, but he stops himself before he does more than twitch his fingers.

Keith looks away before the moment lasts too long. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For getting you guys involved. That was pretty… embarrassing.”

“No, dude, it’s fine--”

“I shouldn’t pull other people into my problems. I should…” He stops to drag his free hand through his hair. He closes his eyes and takes a breath that is far from steady. “What I mean to say is ‘thanks’. For coming.”

“Absolutely no problem,” Lance says with feeling. “If you ever need me-- No, I’m serious. If this happens again…” Keith’s eyes grow a little wider, as if he hadn’t realized such a situation might occur again. “Not that it will, but we’ve got your back. Shiro and I.”

Keith is nodding. “I-- I should probably go talk to Shiro. To all of you.”

“Don’t force yourself, dude,” Lance says with as much affection he can while calling someone ‘dude’. “We’re just gunna go chill and hang out and if you want to hide out here, I understand.”

“No, I’ll come.” The look on his face suggests that Keith is steeling himself for the trip downstairs. He fills his chest with air before letting it out between pursed lips. Then he licks his lips, swallows and nods. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

Lance tries to offer the most supportive smile he can and his heart stutters when Keith returns it. Then he turns to head down the hall, feeling a fresh wave of peace settle over his mind. He hopes he can share at least a little of that peace with Keith.

A small tug at his shirt stops him before the stairs and when he turns back to Keith, his face is surprised, as if his hand had acted on its own. He drops Lance’s shirt quickly and presses his lips together.

“What is it?” Lance asks, a hint of worry threatening to overshadow his mood. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Keith says quickly. “I just--” His mouth is open but the words are having trouble coming out. It’s subtle, but a flush is creeping slowly up his neck. “I need--”

Lance turns to face him, searching the face for answers. “You need… a chocolate sundae? A piggy back ride?”

Keith’s brows furrow and a scowl comes over his face. His cheeks are red now. “Nevermind.”

Lance lifts his arms slightly. “A hug?”

Keith nods quickly, still pressing his lips together in a frown. The gesture sets Lance’s heart beating furiously in his chest, but he is beyond hesitation now. He steps forward, gathering shoulders and head into an embrace. Keith drops his face onto Lance’s shoulder and wraps his arms around his torso. A shutter travels over Keith’s body before he is still, his body moving in regular time with each breath. Lance pushes his fingers through the thick black hair, a little indulgently.

As quickly as the hug started, it is unravelled and both start talking at the same time.

“There, that wasn’t so bad--”

“We should probably go downstairs--”

Lance clamps his mouth shut, his cheeks feeling warm. “Sorry, go ahead.”

Keith is rubbing his mouth with one hand. “Downstairs,” he mumbles into it. “I need a beer.”

\-------------

Allura is fighting with the hem of her skirt, frustrating rising to a crescendo. She grunts each time her needle pokes her in the finger and has to pull out 2 stitches for every 3 she sews. She hates sewing-- usually she gets Hunk to do her repair work, but he’s gone home for the weekend. It’s too bad, because she could have used his company.

Instead she’s left a text for Shiro, against her better judgment. She feels like she’s taking advantage of his kindness, because she knows that even the vague line of words she sent him would be enough to get his attention. It took very little, these days.

He arrives right about the time that she is ready to give up. It’s late, the faire is closed, and she’s sitting in the tailor’s shop in her yoga capris and tank top, lap full of a mess of skirts. She’s sweating from the effort and a headache is mounting behind her eyes.

“Hey,” he says, as he usually does. He’s predictable, this one. In him, it’s a quality.

“Hi,” she says, more pathetically than she meant. “Can you sew?”

Shiro makes a face. He enters the tailor’s shop through the open doorway and settles himself across from her. “Sorry.” He pauses, his face looking drawn and tired in the light of the yellow lamp Allura has put on the floor beside her. “I got your text.”

She sighs and puts down the needle. “That’s that, I guess.”

“There’s nothing we can do?”

Allura shakes her head. “Kolivan was told this morning. We have a week, and that’s it. He’s going to pay us for two weeks, though.”

“Shit…” Shiro runs two hands through his hair. His muscular arms are lined by the light and shadow from the lamp. “After all we did.”

Allura nods. “We made record sales these past few weeks. But it wasn’t enough. He wants to build an _IKEA_.” She grimaces. 

“The staff aren’t going to be happy,” Shiro says, which is the heart of the matter. It’s the thing that has been swirling around in Allura’s head all afternoon.

There are lots of jobs for young people in the summer. They can work in a resort or at a camp; do farm work or bus tables. There are countless retail and customer service jobs to be had, if one doesn’t mind minimum wage. But there was something particular about working at a renaissance faire. Not just any faire-- The Kingdom of Altea: it was something special.

Allura had arrived here after struggling for years in a legal battle over her father’s estate. Greedy relatives had her locked in the courts for years trying to fight for more than their share of his wealth. Never one to give in, she fought hard, severing ties and using every ounce of her willpower and energy in the process. She had won the land and the house, and had given up the money. It was the outcome she had wanted, but the entire debacle, compacted with the loss of her father, had left her drained and depressed. The faire had appeared as a oasis in the desert; a place to rest and release. It serves as an escape from the outside world. Here, she is a princess of an imagined kingdom, and not the lonely daughter of a diseased millionaire. 

She knows she is not the only one who has come to Altea for an escape. The faire has become a refuge for runaways and loners; divorcees and dropouts. Everyone here has a story, even if they do not share it with the others. But all are welcome with open arms. They are given a place to sleep and a new name to call themselves. It is no wonder they fall into character so easily: in this world they can be whoever they want, without the fear of their past holding them down.

And now that refuge will disappear-- closed down and demolished to make way for another capitalist stronghold.

She looks at Shiro, shoulders slumped and mouth drawn in a subtle frown. What was his tragic story?

“I’m sorry, Princess,” he says softly.

“You don’t have to call me that anymore,” she says in a low voice, inspecting the ruined hem of the skirt. When he doesn’t reply right away, she is forced to look at him again. He is watching her with sad, strange eyes. It’s a look she has seen before, and has actively prevented herself from trying to understand. Shiro is entirely too good to be true: his kindness and sincerity, along with an obliviousness to his own charm. It makes the self-destructive side of Allura want to find his faults.

“One week, huh?” he says finally.

“One week.”


	13. Chapter 13

Talking with Tara, Lance and Shiro ends up being less of a therapy session than Keith was afraid it would be. In fact, it feels like hanging out casually with friends, complete with beer, a few idiot dogs and stories from the past two days at the faire. Tara and Shiro get on very well and Lance is absorbed into that friendship easily. 

When Tom is brought up, it is done so casually with no expectation of explanation. Keith gives them one, anyway. There’s no hiding the fact that they used to date, and the revelation about Keith’s sexuality is less dramatic than he had feared. The only real emotional reaction is from Tara, who blurts out a declaration of war against the guy when Keith mentions (as nonchalantly as possible) that their relationship did not end well. 

“He wasn’t a good guy,” Keith admits. There’s no need to go into detail. No one needs to know about the pain or the fear, but Keith can’t help but notice the look in Lance’s eyes-- the one that suggests that he knows everything. Worst part is that the look isn’t one of judgment or disgust, as Keith thought it might be. It is a look of worry and affection. It’s a look that Keith is going to go to pieces over. 

The sun has gone down when Shiro receives a text from Allura. It’s amusing watching him sweat, but despite his fears, she is not chewing him out for skipping out of work early. His face becomes serious and he is frowning when he faces everyone else.

“The faire is closing in a week,” he says quietly. 

Lance’s reaction is predictable. He is on his feet, fuming, demanding details. Shiro seems to be quietly panicking as he decides in that moment that he needs to talk to Allura in person. All at once they are preparing to leave. 

Lance lingers before going to his car to drive himself and Shiro back to the faire. He wants to know if Keith is coming to work tomorrow-- or ever again. There’s something in his big eyes that suggests ‘no’ is not what he wants to hear. The idea sets butterflies in Keith’s stomach.

Keith doesn’t know, and spends the night turning the decision over in his mind. He doesn’t sleep, because he is still full of adrenaline and fear from the day’s events. Tara makes one of the dogs sleep in Keith’s room and leaves the loud one on the porch. He barks only once in the night, when a tractor rumbles by on the distant road. Keith allows the other dog to sleep in his bed, which he knows is a slippery slope towards never having the bed to himself again. But it’s nice to feel the warmth of the big red retriever against his back.

He thinks about the faire. He started the summer hating the place-- it was claustrophobic being around so many people, and he never liked the idea of dress up and pretend. He isn’t sure when it happened, but his opinion has changed. There’s another feeling that emerges when he pictures the stables, village square, tavern, and stage. He feels comfort and familiarity, and a sense of belonging that he hasn’t known for years. The friendliness of the other staff, the unhindered enthusiasm of the attendees, and the satisfaction of work have all built a warm nest around him. He’s made friends, too, which for him is rare. 

He thinks about Lance, and how valuable that relationship is proving to be. Beyond his surprise that Lance had somehow come to his rescue at just the right time, Keith can’t believe that the guy can be so damn good to him. Under all the bravado and pride, Lance is soft and careful, treating Keith with more kindness than he deserves. He’s making it hard not to harbour a growing desire for him, especially when he indulges Keith with a hug so tender that his heart wants to burst.

He thinks about Tom, and is filled with nothing but malice. Tom, who is the stark opposite of Lance in every way. Tom, who thinks so highly of himself that he believes he is excused for his past transgressions. Tom, who convinced Keith that he was worthless and undeserving of love. Keith can still feel himself under that rock of self-loathing, even when he rationalizes against those thoughts. Even when someone writes him a love letter. A part of him knows he’ll never be in a real, loving relationship, and Tom is to thank for that.

Someday Keith will be able to stand up to Tom. He will be able to shout and curse and _punch_ him, but not today. Keith tries to think of the safest place he can be. He could jump in his truck and be gone, but with no real destination in mind, he is not comfortable with that option. He could stay in this room, but Tom had found him here easily. For once, he finds himself wanting to be around people-- people who care about him and who will protect him. His mind wanders to the faire and he decides that yes, he will go to work tomorrow.

\-------

_Stable Boy,_

_I can’t help myself-- I’m crazy about you. I know you just want to be friends but you are the only thing I can think about. I just want to hold you and make you happy. I am_

Lance scribbles all over the letter and crumples up the paper for good measure. Writing down the words has him hot in the face, despite the fact that the heat wave has finally ended. He pockets the crumpled paper and starts to write again.

_Stable Boy,_

_Are you a melon? Because honeydew you know how fine you look?_

Lance lets his forehead fall on the paper, his flush overwhelming his senses. Another paper is crumbled and shoved in an unseen pocket of his captain’s jacket.

“This is pathetic,” Hunk says as he looms over the picnic table that Lance is hunched on. “Captain Cobalt has finally been conquered.”

Lance leans on his arms, frowning up at his supposed ‘best friend’. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Oh contraire, my friend,” Hunk says as he sits across from Lance. He has brought a couple of beaver tails, so Lance starts to forgive him. “You and Keith are my new OTP.”

“Your new what?”

“Why aren’t you just talking to his face? I thought you found out he was into guys.” Hunk takes a generous bite of one of the beaver tails, dripping chocolate sauce on the paper plate.

“Because the timing isn’t right,” Lance says, still frowning despite the taste of cinnamon sugar in his mouth. “He’s in the middle of being stalked by some crazy ex boyfriend-- the last thing he’s gunna want is someone else trying to--”

“... Stalk him?” Hunk supplies.

“ _Confess_ ,” Lance corrects. “Besides, he likes someone already and all signs are pointing to that idiot with the hair.”

“The landlord’s son. Our greatest enemy.”

“Exactly.” Lance can’t believe how little the dessert is improving his mood. He sighs heavily and wonders what kinds of things Keith likes to eat, besides coleslaw.

“GUYS.” Matt has appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and he slams his palms on the table, making them both jump. “Why aren’t you signed up for Village Idol?” He’s in full costume again.

Lance’s brain takes a moment to catch up. He vaguely remembers such an event being explained at the staff meeting last night, but he had spent too much time watching Keith. He wonders if it is exactly what it sounds like: a singing competition.

“Not my area of expertise,” Hunk says, putting up his hands in defense.

“Lance? Come on, dude. You have to be in for it.” Matt’s eyes are practically sparkling.

Lance sighs dramatically. “Well, if you _insist_.”

“I do, my lord,” Matt says, bending on one knee and taking Lance’s hand in his own. “I wish for nothing more than to hear your sweet voice.”

“Anything for you, darling Matthew,” Lance replies, as he gently caresses Matt’s cheek. Nearby, a watching group of middle aged mothers burst into girlish giggles. 

“I’ll get the popcorn,” Hunk says with a grin.

\------------------

News of the faire’s imminent closure has spread to the attendees. Regular visitors and new ones alike flock for the remaining days. The Village Idol competition wasn’t originally expected to be a large event, but by the time Lance, Hunk and Matt arrive, it’s packed. The lower stage is being used-- the one adjacent to the outdoor beer garden-- and several rows of chairs have been set up in dry grass. Groups of people sit around in the shady areas nearby, unable to find seats.

“Oh wow, I didn’t think I would draw this much of a crowd,” Matt says with a crooked smile. 

“Really, you think they’re here for you?” Lance counters, striking a pose with his hands on his hips. From his spot beside the stage, he can see several pairs of eyes watching him and the others singers who are starting to gather. He sees Keith sitting with Shiro, and his heart skips a beat.

The competition format ends up being open ended and casual. Pidge runs a speaker at the back of the stage that provides instrumentals for songs, if necessary. The competition opens with a rowdy and bawdy song by three full-figured faire singers about a lost red ‘rooster’ that has the crowd in stitches. Then a group of young men get up and sing a Backstreet Boys song without any real sincerity. This is followed by one of the tavern singers leading a singalong of ‘Barrett's Privateers’, which Lance joins in heartily. Finally Matt gets up and belts out the most soulfelt version of ‘Can’t Stop Believin’ that Lance has ever heard, which has the crowd cheering and singing along to. 

Lance gets up on stage to applause and cries from a few of the girls in the audience. He makes a show of pointing finger guns at them and winking. It’s appropriate to his image that he has chosen a love song, but he can’t help but let his gaze fall on Keith, who is much closer to the front row than he realized. But then the music is coming in and he puts on his character. Captain Cobalt, it turns out, has a fantastic voice.

“ _My gift is my song... and this one's for you.”_

Upon recognizing the song, several girls squeak in adoration. A general cheer goes up and Lance smirks as he croons the words. He can’t help it-- he loves the attention and is determined to put on a show.

_”And you can tell everybody-- this is your song  
It may be quite simple but now that it’s done  
I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind  
That I put down in words:  
How wonderful life is while you’re in the world.”_

Lance has made the mistake of looking at Keith again. He can feel a rush of feeling in his chest and a flush fill his face. He heaves a great breath after the line and looks away with an embarrassed smile before going on.

“ _I sat on the roof and kicked up the moss  
Well a few of these verses, well, they’ve got me quite cross  
But the sun’s been kind while I wrote this song  
It’s for people like you that keep it turned ooon...”_

The song is building and the cheers and thrill of adrenaline has Lance overacting his gestures and singing with all of his might.

“ _So excuse me forgetting but these things I do  
You see, I’ve forgotten if they’re green or they’re blue!  
Anyway, the thing is: what I really mean  
Your’s are the sweetest eyes that IIII’ve ever seeeen~!”_

There’s no helping it: the crowd is singing along now.

“ _And you can tell everybody this this is your song!  
It may be quite simple, but now that it’s done  
I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind  
That I put down in words:  
How wonderful life is while you’re in the woooorld...”_

“ _I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind!  
That I put down in woooooooooords…!”_

Lance pauses to look again at Keith because he feels like his heart is going to explode. 

“ _How wonderful life is while you’re in the world!”_

The crowd erupts into thunderous cheers and clapping. Lance is laughing and bowing and feeling a little bit drunk. He straightens and points to various spots in the crowd where he guesses young people to be, winking and blowing kisses in turn. He winks at Keith, too, because he can’t help it.

In the end the competition is won by a small teenaged girl with a beautiful voice who sings a folk love song that has the crowd silent and solemn and close to tears. The sun has set by the time the guests start to leave. 

Lance is coming down from the excitement of performing, and he talks animatedly with Matt and Pidge. Despite the boys enjoying their own performance, they agree on the audience’s choice for the winner. Then Matt mistakenly hopes the faire will do another singing event, and the group goes quiet.

“It’s been fun, anyway,” Pidge says, breaking the short silence. “I want to say I hated it here, but…”

Matt, whose eyes have become glassy, grimaces. “I can’t believe there’s only a few more days.”

“I can’t believe one of my last memories of this place is going to be you guys singing like idiots.” They all look over to see Keith and Shiro approaching, and the former is smirking at his joke. Lance feels his cheeks grow warm. 

“Whatever-- you loved it,” he says, putting on an air of pride. Keith shrugs in a non-committal way, trying to suppress and smile and failing. 

“Matt, as beautiful as that was,” Shiro says. “You lost the bet. You owe me a drink.”

They walk together away from the stage as night falls. The guests are starting to filter to the exit and the staff are starting to shed their personas. Lance falls in step behind the others with Keith, and he tries to read his face in the failing light. Is it just his imagination, or does Keith look nervous? Is he swallowing too often? Are his breaths uneven?

“How are you doing?” Lance asks quietly, so that the others won’t hear over their own conversation.

Keith gives Lance a quick look before searching the surrounding area. “Better,” he says shortly. “Better than being alone.” He clenches and unclenches his fists. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“Like what?”

“Afraid,” Keith says in a low voice. His eyes find the ground and he kicks at a rock as they walk. “I’m not a coward.”

“I doubt anyone thinks of you that way,” Lance says, trying to keep his tone light. “In fact, you are sort of regarded of the dragon of the faire-- guarding the Ice Box and all.”

Keith offers Lance a small smile and a look out of the corner of his eye. “And you?”

“Oh, you terrify me,” Lance laughs. He reaches a hand up to pat Keith on the shoulder and the contact makes his hand instantly warm. “But I’m here for you, buddy.”

Keith’s smile fades slightly and his eyes find the backs of their friends. “Thanks, Lance.”

Lance regards the hand on Keith’s shoulder before reluctantly pulling away. He lets it hang loose by his side, close to Keith’s-- so close that he is tempted to reach out and grab it. He stops himself just as their fingers brush together. 

“No problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in this chapter:
> 
> [Lance's Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dB6-hSCF-g4)   
>  [Matt's Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1k8craCGpgs)   
>  [Backstreet Boys](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4fndeDfaWCg)   
>  [Barrett's Privateers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZIwzRkjn86w)   
>  ['folk love song'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qy8Zw96BbC8)   
>  [Has Anyone Seen my Cock?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c4enHS4SGUQ)


	14. Chapter 14

The staff have been counting down the days until faire is shut down. Each day they decide to do something ridiculous. With 5 days to go they all swap costumes. Shiro works the concession stand and Hunk is a knight. Lance is the princess and Allura looks surprisingly good as a pirate. There are a large number of bearded men in corsets.

With 4 days to go, they have a giant game of sardines that even the guests take part in. By the end of the day it appears that half the faire has gone home.

With 3 days to go, they set up a giant picnic in the town square, with a multitude of blankets and lawn chairs. Everyone is encouraged to sit and socialize. It is informal and friendly.

With 2 days to go, Kolivan is gifted a lord’s costume and he almost cracks a grin. He wears it all day and people bow to him as he walks by. He refuses the palanquin that he is offered, but wears his outfit proudly.

With 1 day left, there’s a rumour that beer is going to be free. Allura has warned everyone that drinking on the job is going to be harshly penalized, but Keith is sure there will be incidents. He hasn’t taken part in any of the shenanigans yet, not even the stupid pranks that the others have been getting into, and he isn’t about to start with drinking.

Lance is still sober at 9am, at least. He stops by the stables to chat with Keith and another knight. Keith wants to believe that he is there for his sake, but he knows Lance just wants to make sure he’s OK.

No one has seen Tom since the incident at the ranch. Shiro has started to lighten up on his patrols of the stables, but Lance doesn’t seem convinced. He spends most of the last few days hanging around, but Keith doesn’t mind. He likes watching Lance flirt with the guests and make stupid jokes. He especially likes it when he forgets that Keith is another staff member and flirts with him, too. It must be hard to turn off his Captain persona and Keith is reduced to a blushing mess any time Lance lays on the charm. 

Keith is also not convinced that Tom is gone. He never used to be someone who gave up easily, especially if his ego was hurt. Keith once witnessed him get kicked out of a party because he was drunk and violent. He came back an hour later with a knife and Keith had barely stopped him before he did something unthinkable.

Keith has started to come to work with a knife, too, because he’s sure Tom will be back. It’s a long hunting blade that he got from his dad. It usually lives in the glove compartment of his truck, but he’s taken to leaving it in his bag when he comes to the stable.

The love letters have stopped coming, and Keith is almost glad. The last time someone expressed feelings for Keith, Tom had gotten unreasonably jealous. If he finds out someone is sending Keith love letters, it will only fuel his anger. Keith isn’t even sure his friends are safe.

By noon the faire is full to bursting. Guests are given out free drink tickets at the door and at lunch the tavern has a line up. The crowds have Keith anxious-- not because of all the people, but because if Tom shows up he’s not going to see him coming. He can’t hide, however, as there are more jousts scheduled for today than there have been any other day of the summer and he is kept busy.

When he hears his voice just after his lunch break, Keith nearly has a heart attack. But it isn’t Tom; it is someone he hadn’t expected to see again.

The son of the landlord is dressed casual today, which is to say, his outfit is only slightly less fancy than it was the last time he came to the stables. He wears stylish jeans and a shirt that probably costs as much as one of the horses. “It is Keith, isn’t it?” He peers over the top of his sunglasses to regard Keith as he hands off a saddled horse to one of the knights. 

Lotor, Keith reminds himself. His name is Lotor. “Hey, Lotor.”

The sound of his name makes the man smile broadly. “He remembers me,” he says smoothly. “I am a lucky man.” He crosses the few steps to the stables and stands before Keith, looking down. He is about the height of Shiro and Keith feels uncomfortable looking up at him.

“I’m sort of busy, so…”

“On your last day? Why bother?” Lotor says with a short laugh. “Tomorrow you will be rid of this place. I guess you can thank me for that.”

“Thanks for getting me laid off, then.” There’s no point in hiding his dislike for the guy, so Keith turns back to the stable.

“Hey, wait,” Lotor says, catching Keith’s arm. “Sorry, that was a bad way to open.” When Keith turns back to him, he’s smiling and holding his sunglasses in one hand. “I promise I didn’t come here to gloat.”

“What did you come here for, then?”

“To offer you a job,” Lotor says simply. Keith wants to respond but he wasn’t expecting such a statement.

“What?”

“For our company. I can get you a position easily. Maybe something where you aren’t exposed to so many idiots.” He eyes a guest in a tunic and hose who may have had a few beers and is laughing uproariously. 

Keith wants to feel annoyed, but he has to admit that the offer is generous. How often does someone show up with a job offer right on your last day of employment? Nonetheless, he pulls his arm out of Lotor’s grasp. “I’ll think about it.” 

“That’s not all.” Lotor’s face has softened somewhat as he lets his hand fall away from Keith. “I also wanted to take you to dinner sometime.”

Despite his best efforts, Keith can feel the colour rising in his cheeks. He opens his mouth and blinks several times in surprise.

“You are _adorable_ , aren’t you?” Lotor says, stepping forward and putting a careful finger under Keith’s chin. Still startled, Keith turns his head away and takes an instinctive step backwards. The guests are continuing to wander past the stables, ignoring the scene between the two men. On the other side of the dusty path, in the direction of the village square, Keith can see Lance approaching.

Lotor isn’t put off. He slides his hand along Keith jaw and draws them to face one another again. His indigo eyes search Keith’s face for a moment before he leans forward and gives him a small, tender kiss on the lips.

Keith snaps out of his shock at that moment. Two palms find Lotor’s chest and he pushes hard enough to unbalance the older man. Lotor is forced to take a step back. “No thanks,” Keith says harshly. “I’m not interested.”

Lotor frowns, not quite angry. “That is disappointing.” He takes another step backwards before turning with dignity and walking away. Keith watches him go with a mixture of frustration and shock. He can’t help but notice that Lance is nowhere in sight.

\-------

Lance storms down the main thoroughfare, in a cloud of feeling. It’s not clear if he is angry or miserable, though a rational side of him is trying to tell him he has no right to feel either way. He _knew_ that there was something between Keith and Lotor and he should have been prepared for the eventuality of seeing them together. Maybe he had convinced himself that the faire was going to close before Lance had to witness something like a kiss.

But there is no stemming the flood of negativity flowing through Lance’s veins. He’s never felt so bitterly disappointed in his life. It’s making his realize how huge of a candle he was holding for Keith. Even if they would never be together, Lance let himself kindle that fire anyway, until it got to this point-- the point where he can’t handle seeing Keith with another person. It’s stupid, really-- _he’s_ stupid. He’s stupid for all these feelings that he can’t help but have. 

So yeah, anger is definitely in the mix. Anger at himself for feeling this way. Anger that is easily redirected to another target. And isn't this the perfect target, lingering by the entrance gate and looking like the most punchable face in the world.

Lance has been expecting Tom to show up all week, so he’s not the least bit surprised to see him. He has prepared a speech for the guy, complete with calming words and a touch of high-roading. But all of that is out the window now-- and there’s no stopping Lance from charging onward with righteous fury. 

“Hey, asshole,” he says loud enough for Tom to hear before he spots Lance. The man looks startled before he recognizes the costumed oncomer. Then his face falls into an angry grimace.

“Get lost,” Tom says, as if he has the right.

“Right back at ya, man,” Lance says, stopping close to the taller man, hands on his hips. “Take a hike.”

Tom doesn’t flinch and takes an aggressive stance. “You gunna make me, nerd?”

“Honestly, that sounds fucking great right now,” Lance says, ignoring the few nearby people who turn their heads at the sound. 

Tom barks a humourless laugh. “Kid, you’re smaller than my niece. You really think you’ve got enough meat for him? Do you even _have_ any meat? Keith’ll never bitch for you if you don--”

Lance swings with his right fist and feels the impact of knuckles on jaw all the way to his shoulder. Before he can swear at the pain Tom retaliates with a yell and a hard shove at Lance’s shoulders. Lance is caught off balance and almost topples backwards. Gasps and cries of alarm ripple through the small crowd as people back away from the fight.

Lance pulls away from Tom in time to attempt to punch him again, but he gets the feeling that the guy has been in a few fights before. Tom dodges and lands his own blow. Lance has never been punched in the face before, and for a moment he sees stars that make him ignore the violent pain of the situation. But then he is forced to back up a few steps as Tom swings again. On the next swing Lance sidesteps quickly and Tom throws himself forward, leaving himself open. Lance tackles him sideways in an attempt to knock him over, but Tom has planted his feet and reacts quickly enough to hook his arm around Lance’s neck. Lance struggles and they both finally lose their balance and fall onto the dusty ground.

Lance has ended up on the bottom, and he barely registers Tom’s ugly, angry face before he is wincing from a blow to the jaw. He writhes under the weight of the man, attempting to throw him off. Then Tom has his hands around his neck and he’s squeezing.

Suddenly the weight is hefted away and Lance sucks in a lungfull of air. He coughs as he scrambles to his knees. Tom is being hauled away backwards and Lance recognizes Shiro’s furious face over his shoulder. Then another knight arrives, and Hunk, and Varkon. Tom is pulled away from the area while another staff member tries to drive back the crowd of spectators.

Pairs of eyes are watching Lance as he attempts to get to his feet. His face hurts and he has a pounding headache. A tickle on his upper lip makes him wipe and his hand comes away covered in blood. 

“What the fuck?!”

Lance looks up from where he has given up trying to stand. Keith is approaching him with wide eyes and an open mouth. Lance can’t imagine who he wants to see less in this moment. He sighs in tired frustration. “Hey man.”

“What the hell was that, Lance?” Keith asks, his voice higher than usual. He stops by Lance’s shoulder and looks down at him incredulously. “What the hell did you do?!”

“What did _I_ do?” Lance asks, and it is hard to pull his face into any expression without it hurting. “All that guy has to do is open his mouth and he’s asking for an ass-kicking.”

“That was stupid, Lance,” Keith says with an amount of shrillness in his tone. “Really fucking stupid!”

Lance growls and finally pulls himself into a stand. “Mind your own business,” he says harshly.

“Mind my own business? Seriously?” Lance reflects that Keith really needs to lower his voice. He’s practically yelling. “Tom was my problem, Lance. Not yours! He could have really hurt you!” 

“I’m not afraid of him!” Lance snaps. “And how can you stand there defending him?” 

“I’m not defending him, I’m saying he’s dangerous!” Keith gestures for emphasis. “And you’re an idiot for challenging him!”

“What the fuck do you care, anyway?!” Lance shoots back. He can feel the frustration and disappointment boiling under his skin. His face throbs. “Go back to hiding in your barn!”

“Wow, seriously?” Keith says with raised eyebrows. “Go fuck yourself, Lance.”

“Fuck you too, Stable Boy,” Lance snaps, before turning away and storming off towards the staff housing. He ignores Shiro calling after him and lets the fire of anger fuel him all the way back to his room.


	15. Chapter 15

Keith stares at the love letters, just as he has for the past half hour. He would have been staring longer, but it took him this long to negotiate with Shiro, talk to the police, jump in his truck and race home. Now it’s 9 o'clock at night and he’s pretty sure he’s not getting any sleep tonight.

He’s finally put in a formal report against Tom. He had once before, years ago, but charges were never laid so Keith is surprised to hear they were still on file. The police were less than helpful, no doubt a hint of prejudice colouring their willingness to trust his story. Who abuses a man, after all? But Shiro forces Keith to stay and make the report, at least for the sake of the faire. 

No one reports Lance, because apparently brawls are pretty common in this part of the province. Tom hadn’t stuck around to tell his side of the story and no one seems willing to side against their beloved Captain Cobalt.

Keith’s mind reels any time he thinks about Lance. He hadn’t meant to yell at him-- he had just been worried and scared. But he should have taken that moment to comfort him. Lance’s face was a mess and his ego mashed up and all Keith could think to do was call him an idiot.

And then Lance had called him ‘Stable Boy’ and everything changed. 

Keith rereads the letters, one at a time. He considers the handwriting, the word choice and the timing. He’s trying to convince himself that they could have been written by anyone, but his brain is seeped in confirmation bias. 

_Fuck you too, Stable Boy._

There’s no doubt of it. Everything makes sense now. The crushing weight of the realization is going to suffocate Keith. His breathing hitches and when he forces it out it is ragged and uneven. It’s not quite a panic attack-- he knows what those feel like by now. He feels warm and giddy and suddenly he wants to cry.

_Dear Stable Boy,_

Keith has never read something so sweet in his life. There is no way the letters can be meant for him, right? There’s no way someone could like him this much. There no way _Lance_ could like him this much.

_...you looked amazing in that squire uniform._

The letters are definitely addressed to Keith. And Lance definitely wrote them. How could Keith not have picked up on the flirting before? And the party? And the lessons? How much self loathing does it take to convince yourself that no one could love you?

 _Even if he likes me_ , Keith reasons with himself, _he will grow to hate me._

It’s as though a rock falls into his stomach, though he doesn’t remember swallowing it. It sits there and radiates a different kind of anxiety-- the fear of disappointing someone. How could he expect anyone to stick around and put up with his bullshit? He’s worthless and unlovable. It’s only a matter of time before Lance discovers those facts. 

Keith carefully folds up the letters and puts them away in the bottom of his rucksack. They will live there forever, long after Lance has forgotten about him. Then, for the first time in years, Keith allows himself to cry.

\--------

“Cheese.”

The crowd of 60-odd faire employees are forced to stand still, holding fake smiles for several seconds while a photographer takes photos. It’s hard to remember not to blink, or look away, or say something. The group doesn’t talk as much as usual-- this isn’t a time to celebrate, after all. This is the end of an era.

Lance is sure this is the worst picture he’s taken in his life. His black eye is pronounced today, and his bottom lip is still slightly swollen with a split in the center. He’s wearing his costume and he supposes the injuries work with his character, but he can’t bring himself to play it up. He can barely bring himself to smile.

He’s an idiot. He’s the biggest idiot in the world. He is torn between wanting to leap off the nearest cliff and find Keith and beg him for forgiveness.

Keith was right-- fighting Tom was reckless and stupid. If they hadn’t been in such a public place, would Tom had stopped before knocking Lance unconscious? Had Shiro prevented Lance from ending up in the hospital?

And to top it off, instead of realizing his mistake, Lance had gone off on Keith as if he was the cause to all of his problems. It isn’t Keith’s fault that Lance is too chicken shit to ask him out. In fact, Lance has gone to great lengths to make sure his feelings are not known. He has only himself to blame.

Lance has every intention to apologize to Keith, but he hadn’t shown up for the group picture, and Lance is fairly certain he won’t come to the final feast, either. Lance is pretty close to breaking down and asking Shiro for his number, as mortifying as such a conversation would be.

At the feast, Lance sits down next to Hunk with a sigh that he makes no effort to stifle. He wants to simply enjoy the company of the people he may never see again, but he can’t help it-- there is only one person he wants to see right now. 

“Cheer up, buddy,” Hunk says, offering a leg of turkey. “This may be the only time you can eat as much as you want without having to deal with guests.”

“I _liked_ dealing with guests,” Lance says miserably. “I like this place. I like all these people.” _I like Keith._

Hunk sighs and puts down the leg. “I know. I’m right there with you.” He considers the large plate of food he has already gathered for himself. Then he looks to his left. Pidge is sitting next to one of the other techs, talking animatedly. On the other side of the table Allura is in conversation with a knight. Shiro is beside her smiling sadly. Kolivan is silent and solemn, as usual. The singers are sitting next to the jousters; the servers chatting with the jugglers. Blacksmiths, wenches, royalty and pirates; Falconers, friars, shepherds and bards-- all sit smiling and eating, making the most of the last day in the Kingdom of Altea.

There’s a tear in Hunk’s eye. He sniffs and frowns.

“Aw, buddy,” Lance says, reaching out to pat his big friend on the hand. “If you cry, I’ll cry.”

Hunk looks back to him. “I’m OK,” he says, wiping at his eye. “Everyone is here. Let’s just enjoy the food.”

“Not everyone,” Lance says before he can stop himself. He withdraws his hand and does a quick scan of the great hall. Keith is nowhere in sight. When he looks back at Hunk, he hasn’t stopped frowning.

“He’s probably just avoiding the crowds,” Hunk reasons, but Lance can tell he’s trying to be nice.

“Yeah, not like he hates me or anything,” Lance mumbles to his plate.

“Hey, none of that,” Hunk chides. “No self deprecation at this table, mister. Keith doesn’t hate you. No one does.”

“Hey, Lance!” Shiro puts a hand on Lance’s shoulder, startling the former into turning around too sharply, nearly knocking over his goblet of wine. Shiro is holding his cell phone in one hand-- he was always bad at remembering to leave that thing behind while he was in costume. Lance supposes it doesn’t matter anymore. 

“I just got a message from Tara,” Shiro starts and suddenly Lance is on his feet. He’s ready for whatever disaster has befallen them this time. “It’s not an emergency. I just-- I thought I should tell you. Because of-- you know.”

Lance doesn’t realize his mouth is open until he finds himself compelled to speak. “Because of-- what? What’s going on?”

Shiro looks uncomfortably from Lance to Hunk. “I sort of thought-- you and Keith. You know. You might want to know what’s up with him.”

If Lance is not so preoccupied with a burning curiosity, he might feel a little embarrassed. He thought he was being subtle with his feelings, after all. “What’s happened to Keith, Shiro?”

Shiro lets a serious expression fall over his strong features. “He’s gone. He left this morning with all of his stuff, saying that he was going out east to find his mother’s cousins.”

Lance’s head is filled with a rushing sound that has nothing to do with the din and chatter of the great hall. He searches Shiro’s face for answers to a million questions, but all he manages to say is: “What?!”

“That’s all she told me. Oh, hang on.” Shiro looks down at his phone again, which has flashed with a new message. “She says to ask you, Lance.” He looks back up, a little perplexed. “Did Keith message you already?” 

Lance pats down his Captain’s coat before realizing, of course, that he left his phone plugged in the wall of his room. “Shit.”

Sprinting back to the staff housing in full costume is no easy task, but Lance can’t think of anything but getting to his phone as quickly as he can. He fumbles with the lock to the room and trips over a basket of clean clothes on his way to the bed. The light in the corner of his phone is flashing to tell him he has unread messages. He yanks out the cord and swipes to unlock. There is a message from a number he does not recognize.

_Hey Lance. It's Keith._

_I got your number at the party. Sorry for not using it until now._

_Thanks for the letters. I know they were from you. I wish I knew earlier. Or maybe I don’t._

_I’m leaving the province. It’s not because I don’t like you because I really really do. I like you too much. But I can’t wait around for you to get to know me because then you will hate me like everyone else does. I can’t stand the thought of you hating me. It tears me up._

_I’m sorry about everything. I’m sorry we couldn’t be together. I’m sorry you had to deal with my past mistakes. I’m sorry the last thing I told you was to go fuck yourself. :(_

_I’m ending my phone plan so this is goodbye. I loved you. I still love you. I probably will forever._

_‘Farewell’_

Lance’s hands shake as he mashes out a text.

_Keith!_

_Let s talk first meet me at the fair??_

**Message was not sent.**

Lance swears loudly, scoops his keys from where he discarded them on the bed, and runs from the room. He’s in his car on the prairie highway before the dorm room door can swing closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bare with me, sweethearts, it's almost over.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I'm sorry guys. I meant for this to be the last chapter but I got carried away. I'm not doing this on purpose!

Shiro stares down the squat, middle-aged man with the odd mustache, willing him to make sense. It’s been a long day, and the last thing he wants to do after all the heartache and labour is find the patience to deal with this guy. 

Allura is to his left, arms crossed over her chest, frowning in confusion. On his right, Kolivan looks emotionless.

“Say that again?” he asks carefully, trying not to sound impatient.

“I _said_ ,” Slav says with more impatience than any of them. “That the overlord will not be able to penetrate the mystical force fields set down by the ancients. He will be thwarted by powers beyond him!” 

“That’s… great, Slav,” Shiro says with a heavy sigh. He makes to stand up, the bench under him creaking. The great hall is almost empty, the other staff already having made their goodbyes. Most would be packing up their things from the staff dorm rooms. Several will stay a few more nights, but by the end of the weekend the faire will be empty. 

“Wait.” Kolivan has put a hand on Shiro’s arm to stop him from rising from his seat. “Slav, tell me more of this force field.”

“Seriously?” Shiro asks, but Slav goes on anyway.

“This land is protected!” he declares. “No king nor tyrant shall claim it! Only those who made pacts with the ancients centuries ago may build upon it!” 

Kolivan somehow looks more serious than before. “Do you have the scrolls?”

Slav rummages in his adventurer’s bag that he always has slung over one shoulder. He produces a manila folder and slaps it on the wooden long table. “I found these in the wizard’s archives.”

Kolivan takes the folder and opens it. “Well done, Slav.”

“With honour, my lord.” He bows ridiculously. “The remaining scrolls lie in my chariot. I shall fetch them.”

“Please do.”

Shiro exchanges a look with Allura, who is equally baffled. “What--”

“Slav is my lawyer,” Kolivan explains as he sifts through the pages of documents in the folder. “And I believe he has saved the faire.”

\------------

Keith doesn’t remember when he learned to feel so sorry for himself. It’s a selfish feeling, he reflects, and it’s been a long time since he allowed himself to be selfish. He’s spent a lot of time until now making sure other people are content-- mainly by avoiding them and keeping his problems to himself. When he was with Tom, most of his efforts went towards trying not to make him angry. This involved a lot of pretending to be happy. 

But Keith isn’t happy now, and he can admit this fact out loud. He’s miserable. Usually the prospect of an open road and the freedom of no attachments would make him jubilant. Now those things seem daunting and lonely. 

Maybe he’s afraid that the next place he settles will be full of good, amiable people who want to make friends. Maybe he’s afraid he’ll fall in love again. 

It’s hard, avoiding attachments. It takes serious effort not to let people get close. It’s too easy to fall into the familiar routine of a normal, settled life. It’s too easy to put down roots.

And ripping up those roots is painful. It’s tearing at his heart. He feels as though bits of him have been left behind in the soil at the ranch and faire. He feels like he left a bit of his heart there, too.

No, he’s left a lot more of his heart than that. He’s left most of it. His chest feels hollow, like a dead tree. 

Keith can’t remember the last time he cried this much, either. Even when he was hurt and scared, he rarely shed tears. Now they fall hot and wet down his cheeks and nose, turning him into a congested mess of fluids and giving him the worst headache of his life. Crying is the worst, he decides.

He’s spent the last hour on the bed of a highway motel, watching a cooking show on TV and not really paying attention to it. The bed is hard and cold and the bedside lamp flickers whenever a transport truck rumbles by on the highway.

He can feel it: the twinge of doubt tugging at his sleeve. It’s trying to lead him back again. It’s trying to overturn his decisions.

Keith swings his legs off the bed. His eyes are puffy from crying and he feels drained, but he isn’t going to sleep tonight any better than he had the night before. He needs fresh air and perspective. He needs to look at his truck and feel the comfort of knowing it as his only real home.

The night air is cooler than it has been all summer. It is half way through August and it seems too soon to consider fall. Keith breathes in the air like a tall glass of water. It feels soothing on his flushed skin. 

His truck is parked on the other side of the lot. He knows better than to park immediately beside his room door. Keith has no idea if Tom has been contacted by the police, and he may never know. He cancelled his phone plan that morning.

The black Tacoma is almost as old as Keith. He bought it second hand but treats it better than he has treated any horse or human. There is no spot of rust or strange sound that he doesn’t respond to immediately. It’s the only thing that keeps him grounded. It’s the only thing that offers comfort.

A figure comes around the front side of the truck and Keith’s heart leaps into his throat. He’s ready to run until the figure comes under the light of the street lamp.

“Shiro? What are you doing here?”

The taller man seems to relax, as if he was as ready to flee as Keith was. He cracks a small smile as he closes the gap between them. “I knew it was your truck,” he says gently.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“And you didn’t answer mine. Or any of the texts I tried to send. What the hell, Keith?” Though there is no anger in his tone, Keith winces.

“Sorry,” he mumbles in response. “I can’t afford the phone bill without a job.”

“That’s the weakest excuse I have ever heard,” Shiro says with a frown. “Come on. I need to talk to you.”

Keith follows meekly, heading for the Tim Horton’s that is attached to the motel. The smell of old coffee and cleaner greets them as they enter the empty establishment. There is the distant sound of classic rock over the radio and a single staff member mills about behind the counter. They order a couple of coffees before slipping into a booth in the farthest corner of the joint.

“So, have you come to tell me off, or bring me home?” Keith asks right away, and he can’t help but sound sullen. Talking to Shiro feels oddly like talking to a parent. The way Shiro sighs doesn’t help his case.

“Neither,” Shiro says after a moment. “But I do want you to think about it. The coming back part, that is.”

Keith refuses to make eye contact, and watches the steam rise from his coffee instead. “Already left my job,” he mumbles. “The riding season usually ends soon anyway, and I don’t want to be mooching off of Tara any longer.”

“The faire doesn’t close until November, though,” Shiro says, taking a sip of his coffee and wincing. “Ugh. I hate this stuff.”

“Tastes like a tin can, right?” Keith says with a small smirk. Then he registers what Shiro had said. “Wait, what do you mean? I thought the faire was closing.”

Shiro grins like he has some kind of brilliant secret. “Not necessarily.”

Keith wants to hate himself for how curious Shiro is making him, and how hopeful he suddenly is. What ever happened to hating that place? “Well?”

“Apparently the IKEA that they want to build there isn’t strictly legal,” Shiro says with an all-knowing grin. “The land is on a protected wildlife reserve, and the only reason there’s a faire there is because it has been longer than the reserve. In fact, Kolivan is has plans to get it declared a Parks Canada historical site. The land literally can’t be used for anything except running a renaissance faire.” 

“That’s--” _Great_ , Keith wants to say, but he can’t make himself say it. If the faire isn’t closing, then his foundation for leaving the province starts to crumble.

“But that’s not the only thing,” Shiro says, and he leans forward onto his elbows now. He has the look of someone who is about to get _serious_. “Keith, you need to talk to Lance.”

Keith is immediately overwhelmed with hot, violent blushing. He wishes he could hide it but he’s locking eyes with Shiro and the other is smirking knowingly. “I don’t--”

“Jesus, Keith, come on,” Shiro says with a little laugh. “Look at you! You’re as bad as he is. Yes, I know about the letters. How could I not? He’s so obvious that I can’t believe you only just found out.” 

Keith fixes his coffee with a stare and wills himself to stop blushing, but it is useless. “It’s just a stupid crush.”

“Did you tell him that?” Shiro asks. “Is that why he dragged me out to search every damn motel from the ranch to Saskatchewan? Because you told him his feelings were stupid?”

“I didn’t-- I never said anything!”

“Yeah, instead you cancelled your phone like a coward.”

Keith opens his mouth to speak, but Shiro’s hit it on the head. He wants to protest and fight but Shiro’s right about _everything_.

“Why are you really leaving, Keith?”

Keith closes his mouth almost as quickly as he opened it. His coffee's getting cold in front of him, but he can’t move his hands from where they grip the seat. He grasps for the words to make Shiro understand, but they sound wrong in his head. “Lance is a good person,” he starts slowly.

“Yeah, he is.”

“He’s too good for me, Shiro. He’s kind and giving and _normal_. I’m not normal-- I’m _broken_. I bring so much baggage and bad luck with me that I will only ruin him. He needs a normal relationship, Shiro. I’m not worth it. I’m not worth all the bad stuff. I’m _worthless_.” Keith is afraid he might start to cry again, so he finally takes a swig of coffee. It tastes like a tin can.

Shiro doesn’t speak right away, and Keith is thankful for the moment of silence. A trucker comes in to order a coffee and they listen to him chat with the staff member for a moment while ‘Life is a Highway’ plays overhead. 

“Keith,” Shiro says finally. “I don’t think you really believe all that. You say you worthless, but deep down you know that people want you around. Not that asshole Tom-- the people who actually matter. Me and Tara, for one. The others at the faire. And probably countless others who you have left behind because-- why? Because you are afraid of commitment? Because you are afraid that they will leave you?” 

Keith tries to swallow the rising lump in his throat and fails.

“Keith, you can live your life afraid of what may happen, or you can be in the moment and enjoy the gifts you are being offered. Lance is one of those gifts. Keith, he likes you _so much_. I have known him for 2 years and I’ve never seen him cry, but he is so damn close.”

Keith can see Lance in his mind, driving slow circles around parking lots, checking each truck to see if it matches a 1998 Tacoma. His chest clenches with longing. He lets his face fall into his hands and takes in a shuddering breath.

“I…” he manages to say, but the words are sticking to his throat in a wad of emotions. “I wanna see him. But--” A tear manages to escape from one eye and he rubs at it with the palm of his hand.

“Well, you better come up with a compelling reason quick, because I’m about one second from telling him where we are.”

Keith looks up sharply to see Shiro with a finger hovering over his phone. Keith teeters on the precipice, wanting to agree; wanting to disagree. He knows there is no going back after this-- if he sees Lance again, it will be all over. His resolve will be completely gone. 

“What’ll it be?”

Keith clenches his jaw and makes fists on the table. He takes a step.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope ya'll know I almost pulled a Cruel Intentions with this chapter but then decided against it so you're welcome, I guess!

Lance has been driving for 6 hours. His eyes are burning behind the lids and he’s hungry. The last coffee he had was 4 hours ago and he can feel the effects wearing off. There are very few other drivers on the road now-- mostly transport trucks. Lance thinks he sees Shiro drive in the opposite direction, but it’s hard to tell two silver Civics apart.

But Lance is not remotely tired. Not after he receives a text from Shiro telling him to come to a motel over the Saskatchewan border. Shiro has found Keith and Keith wants to talk to Lance. What’s more, Shiro is leaving them so that he can get back home before midnight. _This is it_.

Lance left the ranch 6 hours ago. Tara relayed the story to him-- Keith had packed up to leave that morning, claiming that he has cousins out east who would house him. She knows as well as the rest of them that Keith’s reasons were much more complex, but she never likes to question him too deeply. She is, however, in favour of Lance finding him and demanding a better answer. She gives him a knowing look and tells him the direction Keith was headed. 

Lance then stops by the faire, enlists Shiro’s help, and is off again. He spends the next 5 hours checking every motel and inn along the highway for any sign of Keith’s old Tacoma. Shiro goes ahead so that they don’t overlap. Shiro, of course, has better luck than Lance. Probably a good thing, too: somehow Shiro convinces Keith not to bolt.

A cluster of illuminated signs tell Lance that he’s reached a settlement, which is little more than a motel, a Tim Horton’s, a convenient store and a gas station. The ‘M’ in motel has gone out. Lance takes a breath as he turns into the parking lot. His heart is racing and his stomach flops around with nervous energy.

_This is it._

He’s prepared a speech, but the words have left him. It’s all he can do to drive the car in a straight line. The parking lot is half filled and it is easy to find a spot, but Lance has to repark three times before he’s in the stall. He takes another deep breath before stepping out of the car.

The only sound in the darkness is the hum of the lamps overhead, illuminating the lifeless scene. Lance hesitates, his eyes scanning for any signs of Keith. He hasn’t made any plans for where to meet and he’s forced to stand awkwardly by his car while he considers his next move.

There’s movement in the tall windows of the Tim Horton’s next door. Someone is coming out of the door and into the white light of the lamps. The figure stops and they look at each other from across the lot.

Lance can’t see the look on Keith’s face, but he imagines he looks like a cornered rabbit. It takes every ounce of his impulse control not to sprint towards him and scoop him up into his arms. Things don’t work like that in real life. Keith may have used the word ‘love’, but he was still likely to bolt if Lance came too near. So Lance offers a little wave, before leaning against his car and waiting, his heart in his throat.

After a moment Keith starts to walk over, his movements small and jerky, as if he is clenching every muscle in his body. As he draws nearer, Lance thinks his cheeks looks pale and his eyes rimmed red, but it is hard to tell in the fluorescent light and deep shadows that flash over his face. 

God, he’s a sight for sore eyes. It feels like a thousand years since he’s seen Keith; A thousand years since they yelled at each other. And it must be at least a million since Lance has seen him smile. It makes his heart ache.

“Hey man,” Lance croaks, because its been awhile since he’s had anything to drink. 

Keith’s eyes go a little wider and there’s definitely some colour to his cheeks. His lips part slightly-- not wide enough to speak, but enough to suggest a change in breath. 

Lance rallies himself, then let’s himself go. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I _was_ an idiot. I should have minded my own business and stayed away from that asshole, no matter how punchable he is. It wasn’t my place. And I shouldn’t have sent those stupid letters-- I’m a coward and a stalker, but don’t tell Hunk because he _told_ me and I didn’t listen. I should have just talked to you. Or- or just stayed away because who the hell wants that kind of-- _mmph_!”

Keith has grabbed Lance by the collar of his Captain’s coat and pulled him roughly forward until their mouths are mashed together. It’s arguably the worst kiss Lance has ever had. But when Keith releases him he reels for only a split second before leaning in for another kiss, this time with less surprise and more active participation.

Hot, sweet satisfaction overwhelms all of his senses. They kiss softly only for a heartbeat before they are sliding tongues together. Keith tastes like coffee and feels like a fucking dream. Lance grasps at his biceps, holding on for dear life as he leans in closer. His head swims as a roll of heat shudders through his body.

“Hooo, buddy,” Lance breathes when he finally comes up for air. “Keith, buddy. This is--” He leans his forehead against Keith’s. “Talk to me, dude.”

Keith’s pupils look blown and he hasn’t closed his mouth. Hot, laboured breaths are filling the space between them. “I-uh…” He wets his lower lip and focuses his eyes on Lance’s mouth.Then he shakes his head and pulls back before speaking. “You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s not you, it’s--”

“Don’t say it. None of that bullshit. Keith, you’re perfect. You’re too good for me. I don’t care if you have a shitty ex-boyfriend or whatever. Even if you leave. Even if you tell me off--” Lance knows he’s rambling again.

“I’m not going to leave,” Keith says quickly. Then he clamps his mouth shut as if he said something embarrassing. Lance can’t help giving Keith’s arms a little squeeze and letting a smile melt over his face. Both gestures seem to make Keith more bashful than kissing. “N-not if the faire takes me back. And Tara. Oh, god-- she’s probably _pissed_.” 

“She’s worried,” Lance admits. “But she’ll be happy to see you. Everyone will.”

Keith’s watching him with sad, unsure eyes. Lance slides his hands up to the sides of Keith’s face and pulls his forehead in for a kiss. “I want you to come back, too,” he says in a low voice.

Keith wraps two arms around Lance’s body and just as they had back at the ranch, they hold each other. Lance only breaks the hug so he can kiss him again. “I’m in love with you, Stable Boy,” he says in between kisses. “I’m crazy about you.” The words are thick in his throat. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” He loves the soft groan that rumbles in Keith’s throat. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss again, and this time he takes it slow, exploring Keith’s lips and tongue with relish.

“So,” Keith says eventually, releasing a heavy breath. “Are we gunna stand around making out all night or are you coming to my room?”

Lance starts to stammer out an answer, but shuts his mouth when he realizes how embarrassing he sounds. Keith gives him a look along with half a smile.

“Unless you were planning to drive all the way home tonight.”

“Ah, no-- I mean, I can get a room or whatever.” Lance is well aware of how much he is blushing.

“Seriously? Lance are you a--” Keith stops talking mid sentence and then covers his face with two hands. “Wow, really. _Really_? How much of a stereotypical nerd _are_ you?”

“There is nothing shameful about-- about waiting for.. _you know_!” Lance’s vision swims from the heat pulsing in his face.

“Well, if you don’t want to--” When Keith lowers his hands, he looks a little disappointed.

“N-no, I _do_!” Lance sputters. “I just. I don’t want this to be one of those, ‘Just one time before we never see each other again’ things.”

Keith frowns. “It won’t be, because I’m not leaving.” He looks down before shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s more of a ‘I’m giving in’ thing,” he says in a low voice. “Or, you know--” He pauses to wet his lips again. “A ‘love’ thing.”

Lance can hear his heartbeating a mile a minute. It’s a wonder he isn’t melting into the ground. “Yeah. Yeah, I could do that. Definitely.” Then the image of exactly what Keith is implying floods his brain and all the air goes out of him. He’s feeling extraordinary warm between his legs.

Keith is smirking, as if he knows exactly what Lance is thinking. “Come on,” he says huskily, taking Lance by the hand and leading him away from the car. “This has been a long time coming.”

\-------------

Allura watches Lance leave the stables with her hands on her hips, barely containing the boiling rage that has been building all morning. The Captain has the audacity to look pleased with himself, and he straightens his coat with a small smirk. 

Growling to herself, she starts towards him before a hand on her shoulder stops her. She whirls on Shiro, barely stopping before giving him a verbal whipping worthy of a servant.

“Shiro--” she starts.

“I’ll talk to him,” Shiro says in his frustratingly calm tone. “Later.”

“He’s been shirking his duties all morning, Shiro!” Allura maintains. “I don’t care if he’s _in love_ , he has work to do!”

Shiro looks down at his princess in a way that makes her lose her train of thought. She hates how easily he defuses her.

“They deserve a break,” he says pleasantly. “Just for today.”

Allura grumbles, crossing her arms over the front of her new bluebell gown. But she does not attempt to go after Lance, and instead watches him saunter away. “Only for today,” she says sourly. “And then he needs to attend to the guests. I won’t let this place close down just because he’s busy making out with his boyfriend every morning.”

Shiro actually laughs, which makes Allura glare at him. “Careful, Princess-- someone might think you’re jealous.”

“I’m not! Who would care about either of those idiots?”

“Maybe not of them, but of what they have.” There’s something in Shiro’s tone that gives Allura pause. She can’t look at him anymore, so she busies herself with watching Keith as he leads one of the horses out into the ring.

“I suppose this is the summer of romance,” she concedes with a sigh. There’s the sound of a footstep behind her before she feels a warm hand slowly slip into her own. She doesn’t pull away, even when it squeezes gently.

“I hope it is,” Shiro says softly. They watch Keith as he mounts up and rides circles around the ring, a broad smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Message me on tumblr because I'm a slut for conversation : lanceylanceface


End file.
